Still The Addict
by LokiHolmes87
Summary: Sherlock always thought he had things under control including his past battle with addictions, but he find himself in a place that he never thought he would be again and John ends up having to be there to get him through it. John also has his own battle with his overwhelming feelings for Sherlock.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello there all! This is my first attempt at a fanfiction ever in my life and I have worked hard on it. It is Johnlock and is about Sherlock getting back into drugs and bad habbits and John helping him through it and coming to realize his feeling for Sherlock as well. Also, I am from NY and not the UK but I tried my best! I really, really hope you enjoy! Sorry if this chapter is too long also!

Chapter 1: It was only a dream

He was floating, blissfully floating away from the world of the living and rising slowly into the abyss. He did not see a white light or any of those ridiculous things that ordinary people have described, but what he saw was blackness which would be frightening to most people yet somehow to him it was bliss.

His whole body felt phenomenal and his brain felt the most amazing feeling of euphoria that he ever thought was possible to feel. He felt himself allow his eyes to roll back into his head as he floated even higher still, but suddenly he heard a familiar and desperate sounding voice calling out to him. It sounded dull and faded, but it seemed to be getting louder by the moment. That's when he felt them, hands. There were hands pulling him back down to the earth. He felt he was panicking, but felt stuck in state of ominous bliss that made him incapable of fighting off these strange hands. He was still being pulled back down when he heard a voice saying, " _No, not again! Stay with me! I will not lose you again, Sherlock!"_

Everything went still for a moment and there was not a single sound, he was just suspended in nothing but pure blackness. The stillness did not last long. Suddenly he felt that he was falling and he could swear that he heard the wicked voice of the infamous James Moriarty whispering softly in his ears, " _You owe me a fall, Sherlock…"_ And at those very words he was somehow able to move his arms and brought one of his hands shakily to the back of his head and felt warm liquid seep onto it. His head was gushing blood. This is when he knew that he was, in fact, dying and the bliss was over.

He knew this was strange because, even in the state he was in, he knew that he had survived _The Fall_ and that it had happened two years ago, something else seemed to be claiming his life he just could not remember what exactly. All he knew was that there were hands pulling back down to earth very quickly now, and he did not know how he was supposed to feel about it, but he did know one thing, he knew that all he wanted at this very moment was to holding John Watson tightly before he was gone completely. Everything faded away into blackness again and all he heard was the sweet sound of his flatmate's voice saying, " _Just hang on, Sherlock. Can you please just do that for me…please…"_

The brightness of the florescent lights burned the consulting detective's eyes practically out of their sockets as he slowly allowed his heavy eyelids to part. Everything seemed to be spinning wildly around him as he attempted to scan his surroundings without vomiting. Everything looked blurry, and his body felt weak and tired. When things finally began to come into focus he rolled his tired eyes in response. He was in a hospital and he was not happy about that at all.

Immediately he tried to sit up using the little strength that he had, but immediately fell back onto the white pillow that almost matched the colour of his sickly complexion. He put his slender, white hands over his eyes trying very hard not to be sick, but he could feel it coming. He felt around his face and noticed that he had some sort of breathing tubes in his nose and immediately, and almost angrily, yanked them out. The awful taste of bile was slowly and menacingly creeping its way up his throat. He felt so helpless and vulnerable that as much as he tried to be strong he could not fight what came out of his mouth.

" _John",_ he croaked feeling the bile in his throat rise up even more as much as he was fighting it.

John Watson, luckily, was peacefully sleeping on a chair right at the foot of the hospital bed, his sleeping face painted with worry. It had been six months since Sherlock had revealed to John that he was, in fact, alive after two years of painful longing on John's part, and John was not about to leave his side right now, or ever again. It should not have been a shock to see John there, but Sherlock was almost hoping he was not so that he didn't have to look at him and feel that strange _'feeling'_ that people called ' _guilt'._

Sherlock tried to sit up again using every ounce of strength that his body had, and he finally succeeded. When he saw John he felt relieved, but horribly embarrassed at the same time. He had not felt this way in many years since the last time he had overdosed, but even then he had not had someone in his life like John, someone who cared so much, or rather, someone _he_ cared about so much. He felt so much shame and guilt that he could hardly contain himself. His whole body began to sweat and he could feel chills going up his spine like ants creeping up a tree branch.

" _John"_ , he whimpered, his hands curling tightly around the sheets as he felt he could no longer fight the vomit he could feel rising up quickly now. His pale blue, almost grey, eyes darted around the depressing looking hospital room for a bucket or bed pan to be sick in, but to no avail. The consulting detective's brain seemed to be going mad because he could swear he could hear an old, almost haunting, sounding song ringing in his ears and bouncing off the walls of the dreadful hospital room. The song was one he had heard when he was a boy and he remembered what it was called, too " _Tonight you belong to me"_ by _Patience and Prudence._ It was making his skin crawl, but it only seemed to grow louder as if it was taunting him with unpleasant memories. He could not take it anymore.

"John!" he finally cried out, throwing his pride out the window in less than a second. He was really losing it.

John immediately awoke, and without a single breath went to his flatmate's aid. Sherlock was confused because John seemed to be smiling. What he did not know was that he had been in a drug induced coma for almost three days, and John was just happy to see he was finally awake.

"Sherlock, thank God you're awake!" John cried, almost in tears, hugging him tightly, without warning.

"Don't squeeze me, I'm about to vomit", Sherlock feebly croaked.

"Oh, sorry about that" John said, letting go of him immediately.

Sherlock's face quickly made John aware that his flatmate, though awake, was far from being alright. He sat down on the edge of the bed and put a caring arm on Sherlock's trembling shoulder.

To John's shock, Sherlock placed his shaking, slender hand on his and held it tightly. "Make the music stop, J-John", he pleaded, his usually calm, smooth sounding voice now broken and full of terror like that of a lost child.

John put his other hand softly on top of Sherlock's and held it caringly. Sherlock's eyes darted around the room as if looking for some unknown terror.

"Please, John make the bloody music stop" he said as his voice almost cracked.

John looked around for a moment almost as if he had heard the music as well and said to him gently, "Sherlock, there's no music, now just lay back down and rest while I fetch the nurse"

Before John could say another word Sherlock turned to him, his eyes flaring with a sudden anger and said to him in an almost demonic tone, "Fuck the nurse!"

Only a few seconds later Sherlock was like a frightened little child again. He became eerily silent for a moment and just looked down at the floor breathing heavily. "John", he said hoarsely as his thin, pallid arm (which had a few track marks on it) reached for John's shoulder for balance.

"I'm sorry, John…but I'm going to be s-sick" he finally said, his voice cracking. "I'm sorry, John" he repeated.

"No need to be sorry, alright?" John said, placing his hand on Sherlock's dark curls. He then looked around the room for something for Sherlock to be sick in, but there was nothing, not even under the bed. Sherlock was attached to an IV which made it a bit difficult to get him to the bathroom.

"John, hurry" he whimpered, covering his mouth and swallowed down some bile.

"Sherlock, it's okay just let it out and I or a nurse will come and clean it up alright, love?" John immediately realised what he had said and blushed in embarrassment, hoping the consulting detective did not hear.

"L-love?" Sherlock said looking into John's eyes with his glazed over gaze.

"You're delusional, Sherlock" he quickly said to cover his arse.

Sherlock was too sick to care right now though, and he gripped tightly at John's jacket as he felt he was just about to be sick. John rubbed Sherlock's back caringly as Sherlock began to violently dry heave.

Seeing Sherlock like this was tearing John Watson's heart right out of his chest. The man that he knew as brilliant, strong, and truly valiant was being destroyed by addiction. His mind then flashed to his sister, but he stopped himself and focused on the pressing matter at hand, which was helping his best friend like the many countless times he had helped him.

Sherlock let a few more painful dry heaves before he started to vomit up yellow bile onto the floor. It seemed to be endless. John felt so helpless. He just wanted to take the pain away, but he could not. This was something Sherlock had to go through.

Finally Sherlock was finished vomiting and was now just coughing, and spiting up what was left. He was sweating all over and shaking like a leaf.

"John…I'm s-sorry" he said, looking at John with the most pitiful expression possible. John didn't even think Sherlock was capable of making such a face.

"No need to be sorry, you'll be alright…I promise" John's words echoed through Sherlock's fevered brain and seemed to make the haunting music he was hearing in his head subside at last.

John grabbed a tissue from the trey by Sherlock's bed and wiped Sherlock's mouth with it, and faintly smiled at him with sympathetic eyes gleaming into Sherlock's.

"Feel better?" John asked.

"Not r-really" Sherlock answered, still trembling.

"Get back into the bed and rest, Sherlock while I find the nurse, okay?"

As soon as John began to get up from his flatmate's side he was stopped by Sherlock's shaking hand on his. "P-please d-don't go, John." He said weakly, swallowing hard.

John looked at Sherlock's face, and was almost close to tears seeing him in such a state.

"You'll be alright, Sherlock, I promise" John said softly as he assisted his sickly friend in getting back into the bed. Sherlock actually fought him a bit, but was too weak to do much at the moment so he just laid back and tried to close his eyes. His head was still swimming, but at least the music had stopped finally.

John waited a bit until Sherlock seemed to at last be resting then he started to get up, but yet again he felt the clammy touch of Sherlock's hand trying to stop him. John looked at Sherlock, and saw him lazily looking at him through half lidded glassy eyes, his breath quacking a bit. "John" he murmured looking like he was on the verge of tears.

John sat back down on the bed and scooted closer to his ill companion and said softly, "Yes?"

"Come closer, John"

John of course did what he said. "Yes, Sherlock?" he repeated, leaning in close to his flatmate's fevered face.

Sherlock looked as white as a sheet, and almost resembled a vampire. His face looked sunken in and looked like death. John stared at him blankly for a while almost in disbelief of what he saw. He looked like he was already dead, but yet his chest moved up and down and his eyes blinked slowly indicating that he was still among the living.

After a few seemingly long moments of haunting silence between the two companions Sherlock's pale lips slowly parted, and with his eyes almost closed he said, "John…"

"I'm right here, Sherlock" John was swallowing hard, fighting back tears again.

"I…have to tell you, John…before it's too late"

"Tell me what, Sherlock?" he said, leaning in even closer to his close companion to hear him better.

Sherlock tried to speak again, but his voice seemed to be broken for a moment. His Adam's apple quivered from beneath his thin white flesh, and his half lidded eyes began to shine. He was about to cry, and it made him almost feel sick again. He looked away from John feeling like a complete pathetic fool. He wanted to tell John something so badly, something that he hadn't said to anyone since he was just a small child, but the words were being smothered by his pride.

John reached his loving hand out and gently turned Sherlock's head back towards him and said to him softly, "It's going to be alright, Sherlock"

Sherlock's eyes locked onto John's. He felt he was in a trance and could not look away this time. Suddenly, against his weak bodies will, he sat up and drew his face closer to John's.

John was completely still, his heart pounding in his chest. So many racing thoughts were running through his mind, but yet he could not move as long as Sherlock's captive gaze was fixed on his. Sherlock's nose was practically touching his at this point. He felt he was paralysed.

 _Oh, God what the bloody hell is going on?_ John thought to himself.

Sherlock continued to look into John's eyes for a few more short moments, then without any warning he began to nuzzle John's neck like a cat. While he did this, John was completely frozen and his eyes were wide in disbelief as they looked up at the ceiling as though they were looking to God himself for guidance. Sherlock's eager lips began planting tiny kisses on the side of John's neck.

John was in shock, but soon enough his body began to relax and embrace his hidden desires. He closed his eyes and nuzzled Sherlock's hot, moist flesh on his neck as well. John wanted to kiss him so badly.

Sherlock continued to kiss John's neck for a bit, and then he stopped and just looked deeply into John's eyes and said to him, "John, I-I"

John placed the tips of his fingers onto Sherlock's lips and said to him, "It's okay, you don't have to say anything, Sherlock. Please, just close your eyes and rest"

Sherlock still had something to say to John, but he was feeling dizzy again and was very exhausted. He allowed his tired head to rest on John's chest and he closed his eyes.

John ran his fingers through his flatmate's moist, dark curls and embraced him tightly, and he knew he never wanted to let go, not this time, not ever.

"John" Sherlock said from beneath John's embrace.

"Yes", John croaked, his head stepping back into reality again.

"I think I have to vomit again" he groaned, completely breaking the mood.

John quickly loosened his embrace, his eyes blinking rapidly as if he was in a dream for the past few minutes. He felt as though he was just on the planet alone with Sherlock, and there was no one else in existence. "Oh, right then…I'm sorry, Sherlock"

"I wish I was dead, John."

John was actually offended by that statement. He didn't want to hear such a thing from his closest companion in the world. "Don't say that, Sherlock" his voice was breaking again.

Sherlock looked at John for a moment then he turned away and began to get sick again, adding to the vomit that was already on the floor.

John once again rubbed his back and this time he even caressed the back of his head to comfort his sick friend.

"I have to get out of here, John," Sherlock breathed, after he finished retching, his voice sounding almost angry. He suddenly got out of his bed and yanked the IV out of his arm, and began to make his way to the door, but he crumpled to the floor like a marionette without its master. He held his head in his hands and began to yell like a maniac about music in his head.

"Sherlock!" John shouted, getting up and trying to grab his feverish friend from behind to get him back into his bed.

Sherlock fought him a bit, but wasn't strong enough to put up much of a fight, so he became limp like a rag doll as John forced him back into his bed.

Sherlock began to mumble a song incoherently as John carefully put the IV back into his arm.

" _Although we're apart you're a part of my heart, and tonight you belong to me"_ Sherlock sang softly to himself.

"John, John please tell them to switch it off!" He yelled.

John was beginning to become aggravated with his flatmate. " _You,_ Sherlock Holmes need to lie down while I fetch the nurse"

Sherlock swallowed hard and stared blankly at his angry flatmate for a few moments before he made a little scowl and got back under the blankets like a child that didn't want to go to bed.

"I just wish the music would stop, John" Sherlock said, his voice much softer now.

"There is no music, Sherlock you're just sick, okay?" John replied as he sat down beside him again.

Sherlock, feeling defeated laid back down onto his side and curled into the fetal position and hummed quietly to himself, hoping with all his might that this would pass so that he could get some sleep.

Sherlock was so jumpy that he flinched when John touched his forehead. "It's alright, Sherlock."

"No, it's not, John I-I messed up, and I'm s-sorry" he whimpered.

As John had his hand on Sherlock's forehead he was quickly aware that Sherlock was burning up a bit. "Sherlock, I'll be right back okay?" he said as he slowly caressed Sherlock's back.

Sherlock didn't want his companion to leave, but he was just too worn out to stop him at this point and he just nodded his head innocently in response.

John was very fast and returned almost in a matter of seconds; especially because he did not trust Sherlock to stay in bed, but was glad to see he was still there when he got back. His eyes were closed and he was mumbling something to himself that John could not make out.

"What are you on about, Sherlock?" he asked his sickly flatmate.

"I said…my bloody parents are here aren't they?" he said, his voice sounding annoyed.

John looked down for a moment and cleared his throat and said, "Yes, Sherlock they're right outside"

"Oh, bloody hell" Sherlock groaned into his pillow.

"They know you're awake, and they want to see you, Sherlock"

"Oh, God" he whined. "Mycroft?"

"Yes, he's here as well"

"You should have told them I was just dead, John" Sherlock said as he slowly sat up, his eyes wide with anxiety.

Before either one could say another word a nurse came into the room smiling brightly at Sherlock. "You're awake now" she said still smiling.

Sherlock looked her up and down looking almost disgusted. "Don't smile, please" he said flatly.

The nurse simply ignored his rudeness and came closer to his bed and said to him in very cheerful voice, "You must have friends in high places, love"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and fell back onto the pillow groaning.

"You are very lucky my dear" she continued.

"Please, make yourself useful and clean my vomit"

"Sherlock!" John said looking at him with eyes of disapproval.

"It's alright, dear I'm used to it" she laughed as he she grabbed a few things to clean the floor with.

Sherlock couldn't help but notice that John was looking at the young nurse with eyes of a school boy as she bent down to clean the floor. His eyes narrowed in disgust, and deep inside his callous heart there was a twinge of jealousy burning in him. He shot her a look that seemed to be saying " _back off he's mine"_

"What is it, love?" she asked, her expression vacant.

Sherlock was silent for a moment before he spoke. "Leave us" he said coldly.

"Sherlock" John said, looking at him through narrowed, displeased eyes.

The nurse ignored Sherlock once more and focused on John for a moment.

"You're John Watson, right?" she asked, smiling flirtatiously at him. She couldn't be more than twenty five years of age, and was quite fit.

"Yes, I am" John said, holding his hand out to shake hers.

"I read your blog and it's brilliant" she said with an unnecessary giggle at the end while her hand reached out to shake his.

John's face became all lit up like a bloody Christmas tree, and laughed nervously with her. "Thank you" he said smiling like a foolish teenager.

"Your girlfriend must love reading it" she said, looking down coyly for a moment.

Sherlock sat on his bed with his arms crossed over his chest, and rolled his eyes again. He sighed loudly on purpose to get John's attention.

John looked over at the pouting consulting detective and said, "Something wrong, Sherlock? You need to vomit again?"

Sherlock shot daggers at him with his piercing, pale eyes and said, "No, John I don't have to vomit again, but can't you see that I am bored"

"You were just in a drug induced coma, Sherlock, and now you're complaining about being bored?"

"Yes" Sherlock simply said, then proceeded to get out of his bed again.

"You need to get back into bed, love", the young nurse said, walking over to Sherlock.

"Why would I do anything _you_ say?" Sherlock growled at her.

John walked over behind the nurse and glared at Sherlock and said sternly, "You better get back into bloody bed now, Sherlock Holmes. I mean it"

Sherlock's eyes stayed resentfully fixed on John's as he reluctantly got back into the bed.

"Good boy", the nurse said happily, as she changed Sherlock's IV.

Sherlock shot her an evil look, but allowed her to do what she had to do; anything to get her out of the room.

The nurse looked at Sherlock for a few moments and smiled, but soon enough realised that she was clearly not wanted there by the grumpy patient.

"I should go now" the nurse said, handing John a small slip of paper before exiting the room.

When the nurse began to walk to the leave the room she turned and looked at Sherlock for a moment before she exited. It was quite odd; she actually looked strangely sad and looked deeply into Sherlock's displeased eyes as if she knew him somehow, but then she was gone, having disappeared down the hallway.

Sherlock snatched the paper out of John's hand and quickly tore it up and tossed the little pieces into the air, his eyes coldly fixed on John as he did this.

"Alright, get back into the bloody bed right now, Sherlock" he demanded. "Besides that, your arse is sticking out of your gown" he added with a slight giggle at the end.

Sherlock did not care too much about protecting his modesty at the moment, but still a tiny splash of red coloured his white cheeks a bit. "I don't care" he growled at John.

"Please get back to bed, Sherlock" John implored.

"No" Sherlock said, coming closer to John making himself seem taller than he already was.

"Alright, I'm getting your parents in here then" he threatened.

"You wouldn't dare" Sherlock said, his eyes narrowing at John.

"Watch me", John challenged, putting his hands on his hips.

Sherlock stood his ground and did not budge until he saw John start to walk away, and fear got the better of him. "Alright, John you win" he said, getting back into the bed, his glance still coldly fixed on John.

"You know, I may have wanted to call her, Sherlock" John said, after a few moments of dead silence between them.

"Oh, stop it, John. She was a child" Sherlock grumbled, lying on his side again trying to get comfortable.

"She was an adult, Sherlock, and a fit one at that" John said.

Sherlock glared at him from his bed and said to him, "You sicken me"

" _I_ sicken _you_?" John shot back, anger flaring in his tone.

"Yes"

John was beginning to feel a strange and frightening rage rise from within him, and he was not even exactly sure why. He was glad Sherlock was awake, but he was also angry that Sherlock had gotten in this situation at all. He's supposed to be the great Sherlock Holmes, not a bloody junkie. He felt like a child who found out that Santa Clause was not real. He was let down, but most of all John was angry with himself for not noticing. There were signs, but maybe John just didn't want to believe them, just like he never wanted to believe that his sister was an alcoholic. Sherlock Holmes is a bloody junkie, and John simply chose not to believe it even despite warnings he had gotten from other people that new him which included Sherlock's brother. John was the one who found Sherlock on that awful night. Sherlock was found by John on his way home from a 'tedious' date, as Sherlock would call them. It was very cold, and snowing out when John found Sherlock lying helplessly in an alley near their flat. Sherlock was choking on his own vomit when John came to his aid. At first he thought that there was no way that this helpless, pathetic junkie was Sherlock, but sadly it was. John remembered how he held his cold, trembling hand in the ambulance, and how Sherlock looked like death. It was something he would never want to see his best friend go through again.

"John?" Sherlock said, breaking the silence. John was staring blankly at Sherlock who looked a bit perplexed.

"Ah, you're angry with me, John" he said, sitting up to look at John.

"I'm not angry, Sherlock" John said, his tone giving away that he was actually very upset.

"You are a terrible liar, John" Sherlock said, his eyes intensely fixed on John's timid face.

John looked away from his flatmate's captive gaze and stared blankly at the floor almost as if he were trying to hide from him afraid he would see the tears that were welling in his eyes. John swallowed hard and looked at Sherlock almost throwing his feelings of disappointment at him with a single gaze.

"Well?" Sherlock said, his eyes thinning a bit at John.

John was feeling so many emotions all at once and found it difficult to speak without crying. His throat felt as though it was being choked by the very hands of fear.

"You're angry with me, John" Sherlock repeated, his voice stern and serious.

"You" he began, but soon stopped as he began to feel the pain rise in his throat again. "You, Sherlock…have let me down, okay?" he said hoarsely.

Hearing the deep sadness in his loyal flatmate's voice made him immediately feel uncomfortable and his eyes that were so strongly fixed on John's seemed to transform from callous to sympathetic. He hoped John would not see this though, so he averted his gaze quickly, and gripped tightly onto to the sheets fighting back any type of humanity he may feel.

"Sherlock, I wish you would look at me at least", John croaked. He did not care anymore if Sherlock heard him cry, he was fed up with feeling inadequate around him, and he was most certainly fed up with dealing with this fully grown man behaving like a child. "Sherlock, please look at me" he pleaded. His voice was broken just like his heart.

Sherlock looked down nervously at his hands and continued to say nothing. He always seemed to have the last word, but this time he felt he had none. All his clever words, facts, and deductions were useless right now, and so he did the last thing he thought he would ever do, and just let his walls come tumbling down all at once in front of John, and that's when he felt the unfamiliar tears burn his eyes harshly. His throat was tightening, his hands trembling, his heart racing, his entire body seemed to be working against him, but he simply was sick and tired of fighting it all the time. The worst part of it was that he had nothing, not a complex case to occupy his racing mind with, no drugs to silence his anxious thoughts, and not even a cigarette to ease his frazzled nerves a bit. He was completely raw, and exposed. He had nothing, nothing but John, and maybe that was all he really needed right now.

"Sherlock?" John said finally after quite some time of haunting silence between the two.

When Sherlock finally turned his head to look at him John was almost taken aback. The brilliant consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes was a broken man. There he was sitting in a hospital bed, IV in his arm, sweat stained hospital gown on his trembling body, and his face pale and shiny with perspiration. Even his usually sharp and observant eyes, were now reddened and shimmering with tears in them, tears that Sherlock had been hanging onto for many years. He looked like he had finally given up hiding, and he knew he could just let these things all go away, even if only for a moment as long as his steadfast companion was by his side.

"Come here, John" Sherlock said, trying hard to hide the utterly defeated sound that his voice was most likely conveying.

John said nothing, but simply walked over to Sherlock's bedside and sat himself down beside him. He could feel a warming sensation in his cheeks as he looked coyly at his disheveled flatmate with eyes gleaming with concern, and his throat burning with a strong desire to speak, but yet he found no words. His eyes seemed to say a world of things to him though, and at last Sherlock spoke.

"John" he began, his melancholy gaze practically screaming at John with an unspoken apology. "I _have_ let you down…haven't I?"

John looked at Sherlock's newly found sympathetic gaze for a while before he could gather up any words to say. "Sherlock" he stopped himself in the middle of speaking so that he could take a deep breath for a moment before continuing. "Y-yes, Sherlock you have." His words, though Sherlock knew they were coming, still seemed to cut through him like a knife.

John reluctantly sat down on Sherlock's bed beside him so that he could be closer to him.

Sherlock shifted nervously in his bed and looked down at his hands again, tears burning his eyes again. His body tensed up when he saw John's hand moving in to hold his, and he looked up to see John staring at him with tears streaming down his face.

"I thought you were going to die, Sherlock" he croaked softly, his eyes practically screaming at Sherlock with an unspoken urge to kiss him.

When Sherlock tried to avert his gaze again he was stopped by the soft, gentle touch of John's hand as it gradually moved his head towards his. Sherlock almost felt faint, but did not move an inch. He could swear that he could see his pride lying pathetically in a corner of the room screaming at him to stop this, but he didn't seem to care anymore.

"You're trembling, Sherlock" John cooed as he drew even closer to Sherlock's bewildered, confused face. "Don't ever feel like you have to _hide_ anything from me, okay?"

Soon enough tears were rolling down Sherlock's pale cheeks, and John's thumb was there to wipe the first falling tear away. "No need for tears, Mister Sherlock Holmes" John whispered into Sherlock's ear, his other hand moving from his face to the back of Sherlock's head bringing his face into his shoulder as he embraced him tightly.

Sherlock was breathing heavily from beneath John's warming embrace. "Have I gone mad at last, John?" he asked, his voice muffled into John's chest. In response John brought Sherlock's face to look at his again and he then said to him, "Yes, I believe you have Mr. Holmes" John was smiling warmly at him as he brought their foreheads together, eyes locked onto each other.

Sherlock was feeling a bit dizzy and faint again, and John could tell. "You want to lay down again, Sherlock?" he asked as he ran his fingers through Sherlock's unkempt, dark curls of hair.

Sherlock allowed his head to lean into John's chest again as he said, "I want to get out of here, John, please"

"I know-I know you do, but you have to stay and get better. Just relax, okay?" John said this as sternly as he could manage, continuing to thoroughly stroke the consulting detective's hair.

Sherlock groaned pathetically into John's chest. He felt utterly defeated and it made him want to scream. He breathed in deep the scent of John and almost felt high. The sensation that he felt when John was holding him was something that he had never felt before in his entire life, and he didn't want it to ever end. He felt safe.

A few minutes passed, and John noticed that Sherlock's breathing was slow and steady now. He was finally asleep. John smiled to himself and tried not to giggle at the fact that Sherlock Holmes was sleeping in his arms purring like a kitten. He hated to admit it, but he felt as though he was in heaven.

The silence in the room was suddenly broken when he heard the sound of familiar voices coming close the room from the hallway. John panicked a bit, not wanting anyone to see him holding Sherlock in such a way. It was not that he was embarrassed, but he felt it was not the appropriate time for this sort of thing, and John didn't want to deal with an awkward moment right now. He had been through enough for one night.

He tried to gently place Sherlock down and rest his weary head on the pillow, hoping he would stay asleep. Just as he was placing a sleeping Sherlock's head down onto the pillow he began to babble. "John, where's my dog? Where's Red Beard?" John had not the slightest idea what he was talking about, but simply shushed him and said in a whisper, "It's okay, Sherlock just rest"

Sherlock's fatigued eyes opened halfway and he murmured, "I miss him, John" he almost sounded drunk.

"Sherlock, just close your eyes and sleep" John said, running the back of his hand slowly across his wet forehead.

"Okay, John" Sherlock mumbled, his weary eyes rolling back into his head.

 _Poor darling,_ he thought to himself, his eyes gazing sympathetically at his delirious, sleepy companion.

When he heard a knock at the half open door to the room, he quickly moved his hand from Sherlock's head and turned away from him to face the door. "Come in" he said.

As soon as the door opened he could hear the sound of Sherlock's mother whimpering. She looked so worried and distraught. "Oh, Sherlock" she cried softly, her eyes seeing her son looking like death in a hospital bed.

Right behind her was Sherlock's father and his brother, Mycroft. While Sherlock's parents quickly made their way to Sherlock's bed side, Mycroft stood at a distance from the bed completely still like a statue, and simply watched as his parents fussed over his little brother.

"Hello, Mycroft" John said stiffly.

"Hello, John" he replied, his eyes fixed on his little brother's almost lifeless body lying in the bed in front of him. He had not a single hint of worry on his face, but John was not surprised.

"How long has he been awake, John?" he asked still not making any eye contact.

"I would say about an hour" John replied.

"He did this to himself you know?" Mycroft said coldly, his eyes finally looking at John.

John was speechless for a moment, but he knew he was probably right. "I wish I could have done something though" John said, as he watched Sherlock's mother kiss his fevered brow. He was baffled that someone like Sherlock Holmes was related to her. She seemed so normal, so ordinary.

"Trust me, there's nothing you can really do in situations like this" Mycroft said, his voice robotic.

"He almost died" John said, then looked at Mycroft seeing if it would possibly trigger any sort of emotion in him.

Mycroft just stared ahead and said, "He's done this before you know?"

"He has?" John asked.

"When he was only 15 years of age, he got into our parents locked liquor cabinet and downed so much wine that he had to have his stomach pumped." Mycroft said.

John was silent for a moment as he tried to picture a drunken 15 year old Sherlock Holmes in his head. "Well, I guess everyone over does it at that age" he said, but what he was really thinking was how sad and lonely Sherlock must have been to do that, and he felt sorry for him for a moment.

Mycroft looked at John skeptically and said to him, "Did you?"

John cleared his throat nervously, looked away from Sherlock's older brother and said, "Well, I never got quite that far, but I smoked a bit of weed and got drunk quite a few times with my mates when I was younger"

Mycroft was still looking at John, his eyes scanning him and said, "No need to defend him, John he may be brilliant at solving cases, but he is still an addict at the end of the day"

John looked at Sherlock sleeping on the hospital bed, and got lost in his own thoughts for a while. He did not know what to say, he wished that what Mycroft was saying wasn't true, but deep inside he knew that it was. He never saw Sherlock drunk or high, but he has seen how compulsive he can be, and at times it did disturb him, but he never imagined it would come to this.

"I think he just needs some help so he can get back on his feet again" John said.

Mycroft sighed and said to John, "I know you must be worried, John but worrying will not help him or anyone. He may have come back from this one, but he can't do it forever"

John felt the heaviness of fear weigh on his heart suddenly as Mycroft spoke, and tried to fight back tears. _No, Sherlock is invincible, he cannot ever die,_ he thought. He kept trying wrap his brain around the fact that Sherlock had faced down a criminal master-mind like Moriarty and lived, but was almost taken out by a drug. He found it hard to comprehend.

"Besides the alcohol poisoning has he ever overdosed before?" John asked, almost not wanting to know the answer.

Mycroft took a deep breath and finally said, "Well, when he was about twenty one is when my parents and I began to notice a change in him. He would disappear for days and come back looking like a zombie. When his mother saw that he had track marks on his arms is when things got really bad. We wanted to help him and send him to rehab, but when the time came for him to go he was just gone again, and he was found 2 days later almost dead from an overdose all alone in a hotel room. After he was released from hospital he still refused to go any rehab because he thought the very idea of it to be ridiculous. He thought it was a temporary holiday for ordinary people. People who he thought were beneath him."

John had to let all that information sink in for a moment before he could say anything. "So, since then he has been clean?"

"Well, since then he has had his relapses, but it seems that is long as that complex brain of his is being stimulated enough he is fine for the most part. It has been years since he has used, that is until now" Mycroft said to John sighing.

John hoped that Sherlock did not hear their conversation, but he seemed to be dead asleep for the moment.

Sherlock's parents watched their youngest son intently, their hands tightly holding onto one another's. His mother reached for Sherlock's limp hand and held on it gently in hers and softly said, "Oh, Sherlock what have you done to yourself?"

She almost jumped out of her skin when she suddenly heard Sherlock say, "Please, no crying. It puts me off"

"Oh, Sherlock" his mother said gasping.

Sherlock shakily sat up and then immediately removed his hand from his mother's grasp, and looked suspiciously at his older brother. "Enjoying this are you?" he said, his eyes glaring angrily at Mycroft.

"Was it any more fun this time, little brother?" Mycroft said coldly.

"Nice to see you as well" Sherlock shot back.

John looked at Sherlock, hoping that he would not jump out of his bed and strangle Mycroft. He looked more annoyed than usual, if that was possible.

"Well, it was nice of you all to pop by, but I think it would be best if you left now. Goodbye!" Sherlock said, shewing his parents away with his hand.

"Sherlock, please" said his father, putting his hand on his son's shoulder.

"Goodbye!" he repeated, removing his father's hand from his shoulder.

"I thought you were going to die, Sherlock" his mother cried.

The sound of her crying was like nails on a chalk board to him, and he felt extremely irritated. He sighed and said, "Well, I didn't did I mother dear?"

"Sherlock!" John said, shooting him a disapproving glance.

"Oh, God what is wrong with you people?! I am obviously not dead, so now you can sod off and go about your lives!" Sherlock shouted, throwing his hands in the air in frustration.

Sherlock's mother said nothing, but responded by slapping Sherlock across the face. "You need to stop this, Sherlock…I won't bury my son" she said harshly, her voice trembling.

Sherlock held his cheek where she had slapped him, and looked up at her with rebellious eyes of a teenager, which was a look she knew all too well. It was the same look he gave her when he was 15 years old and in the hospital for alcohol poisoning. Her heart could not stand to see him killing himself anymore, and even though he was a full grown man, when she looked into those cold, pale eyes of his she still saw a little boy who needed guidance, but for now she felt helpless to save him.

The whole room was silent as if they were watching a dramatic play. John thought the silence would never end, but finally Mycroft broke the haunting silence. "Well, this has been quite a show little brother" he began. "I hope you're happy" he said to his brooding brother before turning is back to him and exited the room without another word.

Sherlock's father followed behind Mycroft feeling very defeated, but his mother lingered for a moment staring at her youngest son with tears still in her eyes and said softly to him, "I know you don't want to feel anything right now and you never have, but just remember that you have people who love you, Sherlock. Don't push them all away or you'll wake up one day and find them to be gone, and you will linger alone in darkness"

"I'll take that into consideration, mother" Sherlock growled under his breath, making sure not to look at her.

She was about to leave the room, but as she was walking to the door she returned to her son's bedside and dared to plant a tiny kiss on his cheek and said, "I won't love you to death, Sherlock"

Sherlock was perfectly still in his bed as she spoke, but couldn't look at her at least not until she turned to walk away. He glanced at her walking away for a moment and felt the urge say something, but John shot him an angry look before he could say anything. Sherlock hated not having the last word, but he was just too tired right now.

John followed Sherlock's mother to the door, but stopped when he heard Sherlock's voice from behind him. "Where are you going?" he sounded almost frightened. It was almost a bit odd to John, but he of course turned around. "I'm going to walk you're parents and brother out, Sherlock"

"Why?" Sherlock grumbled.

"Honestly, Sherlock I just need some bloody air" he said to his flatmate with an angry tone in his voice.

Sherlock just watched in silence as John walked out the door. He then flopped onto his back and groaned into his hands as they covered his face in frustration. He was just so tired that he wished he had something to make him pass out, but there was nothing. All he could do was wait it out.

When John got outside with Sherlock's family he waved down a cab for them. As he was saying goodbye to Sherlock's mother and father as they entered the cab Mycroft turned to John and said, "He mentioned Red Beard didn't he?"

John just looked at him in surprise and nodded his head in response.

"I'm also assuming he talked about hearing music as well?"

"Yes, yes he did…how did you know that?" John said as he touched Mycroft's arm trying to stop him from getting in the cab right away.

Mycroft looked at John intently for a moment and then said, "He always mentions those silly things when he's in a state like this. I'm sure one day he will explain why…or perhaps not…who knows with him"

John just looked at Mycroft in confusion and said nothing.

"Good evening, Dr. Watson" Mycroft said to him he then shut the door and was gone.

John watched the cab as it drove off into the distance, his head still swimming with questions. "Red Beard", he said to himself before reluctantly walking back inside.

When John returned to the room that Sherlock was in he saw no sign of Sherlock at all. He put his hands on his head in panic and began calling his name, but got no answer. He went into the hall and asked a nurse that was passing by if they had seen him, but she had not. _Damn you Sherlock Holmes!_ he thought.

A/N: Sorry once again if it's too long or for anything else! If you guys do like it I have quite a few chapters all ready to be posted! This whole story hits close to home because I have had family suffer from addiction including myself, but I am in recovery and am doing well! Once again I really hope you all liked it! Much love! xoxoxo


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry for the delay! This is chapter 2 of my fic and I really hope you like!

John pulled out his mobile and began to make some phone calls, but no one had seen or heard from him. He felt he was going to go mad with worry. He soon left the hospital after looking around some more, but finding nothing. Sherlock Holmes was gone.

When John arrived back at 221B Baker Street it was almost midnight. He wanted to ask Mrs. Hudson if she had seen Sherlock, but he didn't want to wake her so he went up the stairs hoping that maybe Sherlock would be there. When he got to the sitting room and switched on a light his eyes began scanning the room for any sign of his flatmate, but there seemed to be no one there. He then dashed to Sherlock's room, but he was not there either. _Oh, Sherlock where are you?_ he thought as he sat down on Sherlock's bed for a moment.

As John sat on his flatmate's bed he could feel his anxiety making him want to jump out of his skin. He felt so lost and alone. He allowed himself to lie back onto Sherlock's bed for a few moments to collect himself. As he stared blankly at the ceiling he could picture so many awful things happening to Sherlock that it made him want to scream out loud. _Sherlock Holmes you bastard!_

As John was lying on Sherlock's bed he tried to close his eyes for a bit wishing that his worried mind would stop racing for a moment. The more he tried to stop his thoughts the more they seemed to creep up on him. He knew he probably wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon so he got up and went into the kitchen to make some tea. When he got into the kitchen he saw the usual mess that Sherlock had made, but there was no Sherlock to go with it. John felt utterly depressed looking at all of Sherlock's strange little experiments that would usually annoy him and said softly to himself, "Oh, fucking hell just come home Sherlock"

John was putting the kettle on when suddenly he heard the sound of a familiar voice come from behind him. "I am home, John"

John felt his heart skip a beat when he turned around to see Sherlock standing a few feet away from him still dressed in his hospital gown lighting up a cigarette. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you?!" he yelled, clutching his chest, trying to catch his breath.

Sherlock, looking completely calm just took a long drag of his cigarette and said, "Shh, John you don't want to wake Mrs. Hudson" his voice was deep and erotic sounding, and John tried not quiver where he stood.

John could feel rage rising into his chest as he watched his flatmate standing there calmly smoking when he should be sleeping in the hospital. "What the _hell_ are you doing here?" he demanded, lowering his voice a bit.

Sherlock took another drag of his cigarette and said, "I live here, John"

"I know you bloody live here, Sherlock, but you are supposed to be resting in the hospital not standing here smoking!" John said, moving closer to the consulting detective. He wanted to punch him so badly that he had to take a deep breath and gather himself for a moment before he could say another word.

"It's boring there, John. Boring and tedious" he said, exhaling the smoke through his nose. He looked like hell standing there in his dirty hospital gown, pale and sickly, but John couldn't help but notice how handsome he looked for someone who has been in a coma for the past 3 days. He quickly had to stop from thinking anything that would distract him from being angry because he figured that Sherlock needed to know that what he has been doing is wrong, but deep down he just wanted to wrap his arms around him and rejoice that he was alive, safe and alive.

"Why are you smoking anyway, I thought you quit" John asked.

"I had quit, yes, John, but as you can see I have changed my mind about that"

"I don't get you lately, Sherlock. I mean, I never really have, but now you just seem like you've thrown any sort of reservations out the window" John crossed his arms over his chest as he said this, trying not to notice how attractive Sherlock looked standing there smoking like a naughty boy. _Stop it, John. Don't think of such things right now, you're supposed to be angry._

John ran his fingers through his hair sighing in frustration and said, "Well, since you are here you really should try to take a shower or something, you look like death"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him shooting him a smouldering look, his blue-grey eyes practically screaming at him to come closer. "Won't you join me?" Sherlock said to John, his voice low and seductive.

John was taken aback for a moment and he could feel his blood rushing to his cheeks, his mouth wide open in shock. "No, no I will not. Have you gone mad, Sherlock?" he said at last when he finally found his voice again.

Sherlock just continued to smoke his cigarette, his eyes still glaring lustfully at his flustered flatmate. John could see him smiling wickedly through the smoke that exited from between his slightly parted lips. John could feel Sherlock's inquisitive eyes scanning his face, and he just continued the look to the side hoping his true feelings would not be discovered.

Finally Sherlock finished his cigarette, and carelessly threw it to the side knowing very well that this would aggravate his flatmate.

"What the hell, Sherlock?" John said angrily, as he went to retrieve the cigarette butt so that he could dispose of it properly. He was almost relieved that Sherlock did that so that he would stop looking at him like that, making him feel naked and exposed, it was just too much for him.

When John finally found the cigarette butt he quickly took it to the nearest window in the sitting room and threw it out. When he turned around to scold Sherlock for what he had done, he almost fell backwards at the sight that was before him. Sherlock was standing in front of the kitchen completely naked.

John's eyes were wide in disbelief at what he was seeing. He wanted to look away, but his eyes just stared at his nude flatmate, and his heart was about to pop out of his chest. He could feel his face turning bright red, but still did not have any luck in looking away. Instead he couldn't help but notice how beautiful his naked form was, and how amazing the shape of his bare shoulders and arms looked. His eyes were outlining every curve on his body. He had seen Sherlock almost naked before, but this was different, this was entirely new to him, which made him feel very uncomfortable, but at the same time he also felt like he was seeing something that he had always secretly longed to see. He felt intoxicated by what he was seeing.

Sherlock just continued to stand there before his flustered flatmate, his piercing eyes looking straight at John's. He crossed his pale, beautifully sculpted arms over his chest and slowly allowed a devious smile to form on his face, a smile that seemed to make John almost frightened. Just as John's nervous lips parted in a feeble attempt to say something, he was distracted by the high, whistling sound of the kettle on the stove. He was almost relieved, but at the same time felt like laughing at how absolutely ridiculous this moment was.

Sherlock still just looked at John, ignoring the whirring sound coming from behind him. "Are you going to get that?" he asked, his voice so calm and collected, as he reached up and lazily scratched his tattered, dark curls.

John's eyes darted from Sherlock to the kitchen repeatedly before he said anything. "Y-you're" he started to say, but had to stop and clear his throat nervously before continuing. "You're right there, you do it" his voice sounded annoyed and nervous at the same time, and he almost felt like he wanted to just turn and jump out the window to escape from this uncomfortable moment, but instead he just scowled at Sherlock.

"Very well then" Sherlock said politely, then spun around on his bare heals and made his way over to the source of the noise in the kitchen.

John's head tilted a bit as he stared lustfully at his flatmate's tight buttocks. He actually felt as if time slowed down for a moment. He felt like a virgin again, which he was when it came to men, but he still was trying to fight any feelings of arousal. It was very hard for him to keep his lower jaw from dropping as his eyes were graced with such a beautiful sight. _Oh, God forgive me, but I just cannot look away!_

While John was staring shamelessly at his flatmate, Sherlock was gracefully pouring himself a cup of steaming hot tea. "Would you like some tea, John? Or would you prefer something cold to cool yourself off?" As Sherlock spoke, he turned his head a bit so that one of his eyes could shoot a quick "I can-read-your-mind" look at his embarrassed flatmate.

John immediately unglued his eyes from Sherlock's arse, and nervously placed his hand on the back of his head and stared at the floor for a while, cleared his throat and said, " Just tea, please" His voice cracked a bit as he spoke, making him sound like a prepubescent boy. He felt like cowering in a corner hoping Sherlock would just leave him be, but on the same note he wanted him to come closer to him and see where their bodies might take them.

"Are you going to stand, cowering over there all night?" Sherlock said, turning around holding two cups of tea in his hands as he walked into the sitting room. He reached his left arm out, cup in hand and said, "Here you go, John"

John stared at Sherlock from across the room for a few awkward moments until he finally took a deep breath, and cautiously walked towards his naked flatmate. He carefully took the cup from Sherlock's hand and quietly sipped his tea, not saying a word.

"Careful, it's hot" Sherlock said, a sly smile stretching across his face.

"I wasn't cowering, by the way, Sherlock"

"What exactly _were_ you doing then, John?"

"I-I was…You're naked!" John said, his eyes fixed on Sherlock's face so that they wouldn't venture elsewhere.

Sherlock took a few tiny sips of his tea, and said, "Ah, brilliant observation, John"

For a few long minutes they silently sipped their tea. John would occasionally glance at Sherlock's face waiting to for him to say something, but all he did was throw him a few uncomfortable glances in between sips. They both stopped drinking for a little while, and just looked at each other, still in silence. Then, finally, out of nowhere, John burst out in a fit of giddy laughter.

Sherlock looked at his giggling flatmate, his eyes widening in confusion. "What?" Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow, and narrowing his eyes at John, who was still laughing hysterically.

"John" Sherlock said, but still John continued his laughing fit.

"I'm s-sorry, I'm sorry" John finally said, trying not to laugh anymore, but as soon as he looked at his flatmate's confused face he burst out laughing yet again.

For whatever reason, Sherlock now joined his ridiculous flatmate in his mad fit of laughter. He did not know what he was laughing at or why, but it felt invigorating to him. He rarely would have a good laugh, and the more recent times he can recall laughing in such a way were times he had been in the company of John.

John was on the verge of tears, he was laughing so much, and Sherlock seemed almost ready to pass out from all the excess giggling.

While in the middle of laughing, John pointed a finger at Sherlock and said to him, "Y-you sound like an evil villain when you laugh!" He was now laughing even harder, trying really hard not to spill his tea.

"Well, you sound like a bloody school boy", Sherlock said to John, in between laughing.

John and Sherlock finally allowed their foolish laughter to taper off, mostly so they could catch their breath. "Sorry, Sherlock, but you're just too funny" John said, trying to get his composure back.

"How am I funny?" Sherlock asked, suddenly becoming serious again.

"Well, you're standing here naked, sipping tea like its bloody normal"

"I was simply doing what you have desired for me to do since we met, John", Sherlock said, his voice becoming low, and sultry. He then reached his pale, slender fingers to John's confused face.

"What are…what are you doing, Sherlock?" John said, as he feebly tried to pry Sherlock's hand from his cheek, but his hand would not budge. John closed his eyes for a little while in a moment of bliss as Sherlock's hand touched his cheek.

When John opened his eyes he saw that Sherlock was moving in to kiss him, and he immediately pulled away. "Sherlock, no, I can't…please" John said, his voice weak.

"Why do you resist, John?" Sherlock asked, his hand touching John's cheek again.

John closed his eyes again as he felt the soft touch of Sherlock's hand on his face, but soon enough he stopped him yet again. "Sherlock, I told you to stop" He said, trying to keep Sherlock's hand down by his side, but in an attempt to stop his eager flatmate from touching his face, he found that his hand somehow found Sherlock's penis.

Sherlock gazed at John's shocked face, and smiled at him. "Found what you were looking for, John?" He said, his smile growing.

John immediately removed his hand from the consulting detective's manhood, glared at him crossly, and said, "You really don't know how to do this do you, Sherlock?" As John said this he was standing a bit on his toes to bring him more at level with Sherlock's eyes. After giving him the most spiteful stare he could manage, he set his mug down on the table, and stormed off to his room without another word.

"Know how to do what, John?" Sherlock pathetically shouted after him, but the only response he got was the sound of John's door slamming.

Sherlock stood there in the sitting room, and felt almost angry at the fact that he was so gifted at solving the hardest of cases, but still could not seem to figure out how to court his flatmate. He hated not knowing things, or being wrong. He wanted to run to John's room and demand an answer, but instead he put his tea down, and began frantically looking for his mobile.

"Where the hell did it go?" He grumbled to himself. He tried to remember when it was that he had it last, but his mind was foggy still from his recent drug ordeal. He was just about to pull his hair out when he heard his phone go off, but he did not know where it was coming from.

"The stairs" he said, as he darted for the stairs. When he got down the stairs he saw that his coat was hanging on the rail, and dug into the right pocket where he found it at last. He slid his thumb across the bottom of the screen to unlock it, and saw there was one message, and it was from John:

 _Get some rest, please, Sherlock. We will talk in the morning._

The very second that Sherlock finished reading the text, he began speedily texting back.

John was getting into his pyjamas when he heard his mobile go off. He walked over to his night stand where his phone was, picked it up, and saw he had a text from his flatmate. He sighed, rolled his eyes, and read the text.

 _Though I am not sure what I did wrong, you can be assured that it will not remain a mystery from me forever._

 _SH_

John laughed a little to himself as he read the text, then he began to text a response.

 _Go. To. Bed._

After John wrote his text, he got into his bed and tried to sleep, but he found it hard to sleep while having a million thoughts stampeding through his head, but truthfully, what he thought of the most, out of all the events that took place since Sherlock woke up from his coma, was Sherlock's bare, firm buttocks. "What a sight", he groaned softly to himself. He then shut off the light, and tried to sleep.

Sherlock was in his room, with his silky blue dressing gown on, and a cigarette hanging from his lips, staring out the window. When he lit the cigarette he inhaled it deeply, and blew the smoke out with a long sigh of relief. He knew that he should be sleeping, especially after all he had been though, but he just had way too much on his mind, so instead he chose to stare blankly out the window in an attempt to gather his scattered thoughts. He groaned, lowering his head for a moment, as he began to faintly hear the dreadful song that he heard in his head back in the hospital begin to creep up on him again. He flicked the cigarette out the window, closed the window, and when he got to his bed he flung himself onto it, and curled up on his side. As much as he thought he was too anxious to sleep, it seemed not too daunting a task after all. Within only a few minutes he was sleeping soundly.

A/N: I really hope you enjoyed! I know it was shorter than the last, but there is much more to come! 3


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Okay so this is chapter 3 and from here it gets pretty graphic and sexual so please stop now if you don't like those things ok. Thanks 3

Chapter 3: Hidden Desires

When John's eyes opened, he reached for his mobile on the nightstand to see what time it was. It was ten thirty in the morning. He usually didn't sleep that late, but he didn't end up falling asleep until about four in the morning, and even then his sleep was not as peaceful as wanted it to be because his mind was flooded with worry, and confusion. Never had he thought that he would be thinking of his flatmate as other than a "friend", but he just couldn't stop thinking about Sherlock's gorgeous naked form. Besides seeing him naked, he also had shared a close, intimate moment with him in the hospital, and he wasn't sure what his feelings were about that. He felt like he just wanted to sleep forever so that he didn't have to think about anything anymore.

After lying in his bed for about 30 minutes, he groaned to himself, and finally decided that he should get up. He also felt he should probably check on Sherlock, even though the last thing he wanted was to deal with an awkward moment. He had had his fill of awkward moments last night, and didn't want anymore, at least not for today. As he began to get out of his bed, he heard his mobile ring. It was Mycroft. He stared at it for a while before his answered it.

"Hello?"

"Has he come back yet?" Mycroft's voice was calm and composed as usual.

"Uh, yeah, yeah he came back last night. I think he's sleeping right now" John said, as he stood up, and stretched a bit.

"Well, keep an eye on him, will you?"

"Will do" John really wasn't in the mood to talk to Mycroft right now, and his tone of voice made that apparent.

"He's most likely going to be very difficult for a while. I suggest you brace yourself"

"Brace myself for what exactly?" John asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

"Good day, Dr. Watson"

"Mycroft, wait" Before John could say anything else, Mycroft hung up.

"Bloody hell" he grumbled to himself, as he walked over to the door. When he opened the door, he peeked his head out and listened for a moment. He didn't hear anything. He assumed that Sherlock must still be sleeping, which was unusual, but he figured Sherlock must be really tired from the day before.

When John made his way to the sitting room, he looked around for any sign of Sherlock, but saw and heard nothing still. He decided he should check on his flatmate, so he quietly walked over to his bedroom door, and leaned his ear close to it trying to see if he could hear anything, but it was dead silent. With some hesitation, he softly knocked on the door, and said, "Sher-Sherlock?" When he still didn't hear anything, he decided to open it.

When John carefully opened the door slightly, he let out a long sigh of relief when he saw Sherlock curled up on his bed fast asleep. Sherlock didn't even bother to get under the covers last night, apparently, and looked almost like he was actually peaceful, which John rarely saw. Just to be sure that Sherlock was really sleeping; he quietly walked over to his bed to take a better look at him.

John couldn't help, but smile a bit as he looked at his slumbering flatmate. He wasn't used to seeing Sherlock Holmes in such a way. He actually looked sweet and innocent, which was usually not the case. He was usually all over the place all the time, and never took time to just take a breather.

Though Sherlock seemed to look peaceful, he knew that it was only fleeting. He knew a little bit about heroin withdrawal. He knew that heroin withdrawal was rarely fatal, and that it peaked within 48 to 72 hours after the last use, and would disappear within 7 to 10 days, but he had probably made it through the worst of while he was in a coma in hospital. He was not quite sure when exactly the last time was that he used, but he assumed it had to have been around 3 and a half days ago. He didn't want to wake him up to ask him though. He looked quite peaceful, and really didn't want to disturb him.

As John was watching him he noticed that Sherlock had some sweat beaded on his forehead, and his eyes were darting back and forth rapidly from beneath his eyelids. He then began to wonder what Sherlock must be dreaming about.

As John tried to turn and walk away, he was stopped when he felt a hand tightly grip his wrist. It was Sherlock.

"Cigarette" Sherlock grumbled under his breath, still not opening his eyes.

"Wha-what?" John asked, sitting down on the bed beside his seemingly delirious friend.

"Cigarette" He repeated, his voice low, and a little raspy.

"Sherlock, you need to get some fluids in you. You don't need a cigarette" John said, sounding more like a doctor than he intended.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open, and he jerked John's arm around a few times, and said again, "Cigarette"

John pulled his arm away, looked at Sherlock crossly, and said, "Stop saying that, Sherlock. I'm not helping you find your bloody cigarettes"

Sherlock sat up in his bed, and began feeling around the bed for his pack, but to his disappointment, he found nothing. He shakily got to his feet, and began frantically searching his room.

John just watched, as his desperate flatmate looked around his room for his cigarettes. "Sherlock, you do know that you look like a crazy person right now don't you?"

Sherlock shot John a nasty glare, and then continued his search. "You know, John this would go much quicker if you would assist me", he growled.

John threw his hands in the air in frustration and said, "I'm making tea, Sherlock, so good luck with that" John stormed out of his flatmate's room, and went into the kitchen to make tea, but found himself unable to focus. The noise coming from Sherlock's room was really irritating him for some reason, but he just tried to continue what he was doing anyway. While he was putting the kettle on, from the corner of his eye he spotted Sherlock's pack of cigarette's sitting on the counter next to him. He rolled his eyes, snatched the pack off of the counter, and walked over to Sherlock's room. "Sherlock" he said.

Even though John was calling Sherlock's name, he just continued his desperate search, and began to mumble to himself. "Where are they?" he said incoherently.

"Sherlock" John repeated, raising his voice, but Sherlock still didn't seem to hear him.

"Where the bloody hell are they?" Sherlock said, still not paying attention to his flatmate.

" _Sherlock!"_ John shouted, as he threw the pack of cigarettes at him.

They hit Sherlock from behind, and he finally stopped his maniacal search. He quickly snatched the pack from the floor where they landed, pulled out a cigarette, and placed in between his lips. Before he lit it up he noticed how John was looking at him and said, "What?"

"Sherlock, you're acting odd" John said, staring at Sherlock with a slight look of disgust.

"Have you seen my lighter?" Sherlock asked, completely disregarding what John had just said.

"On the nightstand, Sherlock" John said, pointing in the direction of where the lighter was. Sherlock dashed over to the nightstand to retrieve it, and almost tripped over his own feet in the process.

John had never seen this side of Sherlock, and it was actually frustrating him. He knew Sherlock had just been through a tough ordeal, but he was just so used to him bouncing back that he was not sure how to process all of this. He felt almost like he was going to have to babysit him, which intrigued and disturbed him at the same time.

As Sherlock tried to light his cigarette, he found that his hand was having trouble staying steady, but he eventually lit it. He inhaled deep, and without meaning to, blew the smoke in John's direction.

"Sherlock, could you please open a bloody window?" John said, trying to fan the smoke away from him with his hand.

Sherlock walked over to his window and opened it so that John would not complain. "Happy?" he said, with a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

John was beginning to feel his frustration rise. "Sherlock, you don't have to be so rude. I know you're ill, but you are being very difficult right now" John tried his best to sound caring, and not annoyed as he spoke, but his flatmate didn't seem to even notice he was talking to him at all. He just stared blankly out the window in silence. John thought he looked almost sad, sad and lost. He wished he could get into his head and figure out what was going on with him, but all he could do was try, in the best way he knew how, to be there for him through this difficult time. He knew he could not leave his side. Somehow they had to get through this together, even though he was not sure how.

Sherlock still stood staring dreamily out the window, as if he was looking for something, then he turned around and looked at John with earnest eyes and said, "I'm sorry, John"

"Don't be sorry, it's alright, Sherlock" John's voice was tender and caring as he spoke. He walked over to his distraught friend, put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and said softly, "Come on, let's have some tea, okay?"

Sherlock looked at John with child-like eyes, and simply nodded his head in response. John plucked the cigarette from Sherlock's lips and tossed it out the window, but Sherlock didn't get upset at all, instead he actually smiled at John, and even laughed a bit.

They both went into the kitchen together to get some tea, when suddenly they heard the irritating sound of Mrs. Hudson's voice coming up the stairs.

As soon as she got up the stairs, she went right for Sherlock, and wrapped her arms around him tightly, and said, "Oh, Sherlock you're alright! I thought you were going to die!"

Sherlock stiffened in her grasp like a mannequin and said, "Yes, yes I'm alive. No hugging, please.

"Oh, sorry" When she released her grip from him, Sherlock noticed that she had tears in her eyes.

"When were you released?"

"Well, he left the hospital late last night" John said.

"Left?" She asked, looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock was in no mood to have small talk with his landlady. "Nice of you to pop by, but we're very busy" Sherlock said, as he hastily escorted her to the stairs.

"If you need anything, I'll be just downstairs"

"Yes, good day Mrs. Hudson", Sherlock said, as he quickly shut the door behind her.

When Sherlock came back into the kitchen John was staring at him. "What?"

"Nothing, I was just thinking about something your brother said"

Sherlock narrowed his icy-grey-green coloured eyes at his flatmate and said coldly, "And what might that be?"

"He just said that I should keep an eye on you, that's all"

"Right" Sherlock said, as he continued to look at John with penetrating eyes.

John knew that Sherlock knew he was still hiding something, but he simply went to put the kettle on to avoid any further interrogation from the detective.

Sherlock went into the sitting room, and flopped down onto the couch and groaned loudly.

"What is it, Sherlock?" John asked, as he got out two cups from the cupboard .

"Bored!" Sherlock whined.

"Well, you did this to yourself, Sherlock. Now you just have to get yourself well"

"I'm completely aware that I did this to myself, John", Sherlock growled, as he sat up to shoot a spiteful look at John.

"Well, as long as you know" John said, not wanting to turn around to see the looks that Sherlock was most likely giving him.

While John was putting the kettle on he kept thinking over and over about the night before. It was a lot for him to process, and he found it hard to concentrate on what he was doing. Of all the things that happened that night the one that stuck out the most was Sherlock's naked body, and how it made his heart flutter. He had never felt more confused, and aroused in his whole life. No woman had ever made him feel that way before. Besides seeing Sherlock naked, he also had, in fact, almost kissed him in the hospital that night. They had gotten very close that night, so close that John was almost afraid that Sherlock was only like that because he was not well, but he had no idea where any of this was going, if it was going anywhere at all. So many questions circled through his mind. _What did Sherlock want to tell me? Does Sherlock like me more than a friend? If so, does he want to really be in a serious relationship with me? Do I?_

"You should probably have a shower, Sherlock. It would do you good", John said, turning around to look at his flatmate who was curled up on the couch.

"Tea first" he lazily said.

"Okay then"

The kettle whirred and John snapped out a daydream he was having, which had to do with getting in the shower with his flatmate. _Stop it John!_

John filled two cups with tea and walked into the sitting room to bring Sherlock his cuppa. Sherlock sat up and took the cup from John, but didn't bother to say thank you.

John sat down on down on the chair that was nearest to the couch that Sherlock was sitting on and looked at his cup vacantly for a few minutes, not saying anything. He wanted to say so many things to Sherlock, but he just felt too scared to confront him.

"Stop it, John" Sherlock said, as he quietly sipped his tea.

"What?"

"You're analysing the events of last night far too much" Sherlock bluntly said.

John shifted in his seat a bit, put his tea down for a moment and said, "How can you know what I'm thinking?"

"Oh, please you've hardly said a word all morning. You look away from me almost every time I look at you. Last night I obviously alarmed you a bit"

"Well, yes you did, Sherlock"

"How?"

"What the hell do you mean _how_?"

"Ah, yes, I see. You were made uncomfortable by my abrupt nudity" As Sherlock said this, he put his tea down and got into his usual pensive position; his hands steepled under his chin, and his eyes locked onto John's.

"Yes, it made me uncomfortable. You're my flatmate not my bloody lover"

Sherlock looked at John intensely for a bit before he spoke, "Yes, I am not your lover, John, but you cannot deny that from the moment you met me you have had fantasies about us"

"Yes, I can. You think you know it all, Sherlock, but you have no idea what I want" John said, his face reddening with embarrassment and anger.

"Have it your way, John, but I know you better than anyone knows you, and I _know_ that you want me" Sherlock's voice was quite intense as he said this, and he then got up from the couch and made his way towards the bathroom.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John asked, getting up and following him.

"Having a shower"

"Do you need anything?"

"Yes, John I just need one thing"

John had trouble hearing him so he came over to the bathroom, but the door was shut.

"What do you need, Sherlock?" John asked, as he knocked on the door, but all he heard was the sound of the water running.

Suddenly the door opened and John was greeted by the warm sensation of Sherlock's lips pressing against his. John pulled back at first, but as soon as he locked eyes with Sherlock's he felt that nothing mattered anymore except to kiss his flatmate. John came inside the bathroom and put his eager hands on Sherlock's face and gently pulled the taller man's face to his. Their lips touched softly and slowly they began to open their mouths wider allowing the kiss to be deeper. John stopped in the middle and turned his face away from Sherlock's, but not for long because Sherlock wouldn't have it. John continued to resist a bit from time to time, but in the end his deep desires were winning.

Their kissing became so intense that John's back hit the door, but he didn't care.

"Oh, Sher-Sherlock" John breathed into Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock was now sucking and kissing John's neck, and John was breathing very heavily. Sherlock put his arms around John's lower back, bringing his groin closer to him. John was practically moaning at this point, and Sherlock loved it.

"W-wait, Sh-Sherlock, stop…wait" John began to push Sherlock away from him.

"What is it, John?" Sherlock asked him, as he gently kissed his forehead.

"I-I can't do this, Sherlock"

"Why?"

John actually had to think about it for a moment, but he was so flustered that it was very difficult to think rationally. "Oh, why the bloody hell not", He finally said, as he now began to undo Sherlock's dressing gown.

As soon as Sherlock's robe crumpled to the floor, John started to plant tiny kisses on his bare shoulder, and gradually made his way down to Sherlock's firm stomach, then stopped.

"Why did you stop, John?" Sherlock asked.

John stood back up, looked at Sherlock's confused face and said, "I-I've never… you know…"

Sherlock leaned in and kissed John's forehead and said, "I'm aware of that, John"

John felt his face flush with embarrassment. _Am I that obvious?_

"Don't worry John I can help you", Sherlock said, as he pulled John's striped jumper over his head.

"Come on let's have a shower together, John" Sherlock said, as he pulled his flatmate's pyjama pants down.

John felt very, very exposed in so many ways. Even though he had seen Sherlock naked, Sherlock had not seen him naked, and he felt that his body dwarfed in comparison to Sherlock's. John just stood still looking down at the bathroom floor trying not to look at Sherlock's bedroom eyes.

"I…I don't know, Sherlock" John muttered, still not looking up.

"Don't know what, John?"

"I-I just don't know"

Sherlock sighed heavily, put his arms around his exposed flatmate and said softly, "It's quite simple, John. We simply step into the shower together. Just like you do every day, but this time I will be with you"

As soon as Sherlock gave John a reassuring kiss on the cheek, he stepped into the shower. "Come on, then" he said, gesturing with his hand for John to join him.

John looked at his flatmate for a few moments, and he felt he could watch Sherlock all day long. His beautiful body glistened in the hot water and it was driving him mad. He couldn't contain himself for too much longer without touching himself, so he finally stepped into the shower to join him.

"See that wasn't such a daunting task now was it, John?"

"I guess not"

John closed his eyes as he felt the hot water sooth his tense body. He felt Sherlock's arms wrap around his body and he knew that there was never another moment in his life that felt more invigorating than this.

"Sherlock" John breathed.

"Yes, John"

"Please, just kiss me"

The feeling of Sherlock's lips against his made him feel like he was floating. He breathed in deep as Sherlock's lips locked with his and he didn't want this moment to end.

Sherlock's tongue playfully teased John's as his hand ventured down to John's penis. John's eyes opened wide as he felt the consulting detective's grip gently squeeze the base of his cock. His eyes rolled back and he almost lost his balance.

"Oh, God" John moaned as he rested his head on Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock began to move his hand back and forth on his penis, and John was breathing heavily. His hands felt like nothing he had ever felt from any of his girlfriends. It was a feeling that he never knew existed. He now knew what true bliss was.

"Oh, God yes"

John wanted to scream out in ecstasy as Sherlock's talented hands continued to pull on his manhood. It felt so good that he knew he would probably come soon if he continued.

"Wait, Sh-Sherlock" John breathed, as he brought his hand to Sherlock's in an attempt to stop him.

Sherlock smiled at John before he released his hand from John's fully erect penis and then began kissing his chest.

"It feels so g-good"

As John was trying to find his breath again he almost fell back when he felt the amazing, warm, moist sensation of Sherlock's lips wrap around his hard cock. He looked down for a moment to make sure he was not dreaming, but he was not. Sherlock Holmes was giving him head. _This is too amazing to be real!_

A/N: I really hope you liked that little bit of naughtiness ;) I know I like writing it!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Ok sorry I took so long, but here is the 4th chapter for you all!

Chapter 4: Lust vs Love

"Oh, Sherlock"

As his flatmate was sucking hard on his penis he gripped onto Sherlock's dark curls trying not to scream out in utter bliss. He had never gotten head like this before.

"Sherlock, I'm going to c-co-come"

When John announced this Sherlock sucked even harder and took John's hand and held it tight.

"Oh, G-God yes"

Sherlock held John's trembling hand tighter as he began to taste John's come jet into his mouth. He eagerly sucked out every last drop and swallowed it down like it was a cocktail.

John felt weak on his feet for a few moments afterwards and tried to catch his breath.

"Alright?" Sherlock asked, as he stood up and wrapped his arms around John's lower back, bringing him closer to his hot body.

John just looked at Sherlock for a while before he could even find words. "That was amazing, Sherlock. Quite remarkable"

The consulting detective smiled slyly at him and said, "I believe you said something similar to me when we went on out first case together"

John laughed a bit and said, "That was different than this, Sherlock"

They both looked at each other for a moment, and then they both began to laugh.

"I really don't know what to make of all of this" John said, still laughing.

"You never know what to make of anything, John" Sherlock said, as he kissed John's forehead a few times.

John didn't get mad at the comment and instead just wrapped his arms around Sherlock and squeezed him, but while John was holding him he suddenly became aware that Sherlock was having a little trouble standing.

"Sherlock, are you alright?", John asked, as he tried to examine Sherlock's face a bit.

"I'm f-fine; just feel a bit d-dizzy"

As soon as Sherlock said this he almost fell forward onto John. Thankfully John caught him and was able to hold him up from under his arms.

"Sherlock, Sherlock can you hear me?"

Sherlock only mumbled incoherently in response. John panicked a bit and tried to shake him.

"Sherlock, answer me, please"

His flatmate was not answering, so he pulled him up and tried to get him out of the shower. He brought him to the toilet and sat him there, while his hands kept him from falling forward.

"Sherlock, please say something" John pleaded, as he lightly slapped his cheek in an attempt to rouse him.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open and he shook his head a bit. The first thing he saw in front of him was his flatmate's worried eyes looking at him.

John hugged him and said, "Oh, Sherlock you scared me"

"I…I don't know what happened" Sherlock murmured.

"You seem to have fainted momentarily"

"I'm s-sorry, John"

John held Sherlock's bewildered face in his hands and said, "Let's just get you dry, okay?"

"I don't know what I'm doing sometimes, John"

John smiled, pressed his forehead against Sherlock's and said, "Neither do I, Sherlock, but it's alright. It's all going to be alright"

Sherlock was still feeling dizzy so he allowed his head to rest on John's shoulder. He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt his flatmate lifting him up from under his arms.

"Relax, Sherlock I'm just trying to get you dry so you can go and lie down for a bit"

"I don't want to lie down, John."

"Well, I'm not giving you a choice", John said as he towelled off Sherlock's naked body.

"You're quite good, Sherlock, you know"

"Quite good at what, John?"

John blushed a little, looked down and said, "You know what, Sherlock"

"Ah, yes that"

"What was that?"

"What?"

"The way you said it, as if it was nothing"

Sherlock sighed heavily and said, "John, why does it surprise you that I am good?"

"Well, I just always assumed that, you know, you had never really done anything like that before" John's words trailed off towards the end.

"Does it really matter, John?"

"I mean, well, I guess not…I dunno"

"Look, John sex, or rather, sexual acts in this case, do not alarm me"

"I never said they did"

"Yes, but you were thinking it"

"Alright, I'm done with this conversation, Sherlock" John said, as he finished drying off the consulting detective's body.

"Do you feel better now?" John asked, as he played with Sherlock's wet hair a bit.

Sherlock picked up the towel to dry his hair and said, "Yes, John I do, but I'm still bored"

"Well, I don't know what to do about that, but maybe you should try brushing your teeth. Your mouth tastes like a bloody ash tray"

Sherlock stood up, pecked John on the cheek and said, "Very well then, John"

"Okay, I'll get you something comfortable to wear from your room"

"Comfortable? John, I really hope you don't think I'm going to stay here in the flat all day"

"Sherlock, you're not well. You really need to rest for now. I mean, you almost fainted just now"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, groaned and said, "I will go mad here, John"

John looked at Sherlock's face and tried not to be fooled by how sad he looked, but it was hard to do. "Sherlock, don't worry, okay? I'll be right here with you"

"Okay, John" Sherlock said softly, as he leaned in for another kiss from his flatmate.

"Brush your teeth, Sherlock then we'll see about anymore kissing" John said as he put two of his finger tips on Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock pouted a bit and said, "Alright, Dr. Watson"

When John left the room Sherlock got out his toothbrush and squeezed some toothpaste onto the brush, but as he brought it to his mouth he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked more pale than usual, his eyes looked tired, and his face seemed to actually look sad. Sherlock began to remember the events that took place before he overdosed. He remembered how he felt restless, bored, and just wanted to escape. He always just wanted to escape, but this time felt different, this time he seemed to have just lost it completely. He remembered how all he wanted to do was cry out and tell John that he needed help and that he needed _him_ , but he was too ashamed to say anything, and too smothered by his pride to do anything. His mind now began to venture into an even darker place.

He closed his eyes for a few moments as his mind trailed off. He was now remembering vividly the very moment before he overdosed. He remembered that it was very cold and it was snowing, but what he recalled most clearly was the rush he got when he bought the heroin, and the rush it gave him knowing that it was his own little secret. He remembered hiding in that alley near his flat like a rodent, and most of all he remembered how he cooked up the heroin in a dirty spoon, loving the fucking smell of it, and then wrapping the tourniquet around his arm; the vein rising from beneath his pallid flesh as he slapped at it to make it come closer to the surface, filling the syringe with the filthy drug, and finally…finally sticking the cold end of the needle right into his protruding vein and slowly pushing down on the top allowing its potent contents to enter him at last. He remembered the feeling of indescribable bliss as the drug rushed through his veins, leaving him at the very mercy of nothing and no one but the heroin. He remembered that for a few short moments he felt that nothing could bother him, nothing mattered. His racing thoughts had been slowed and were replaced by a feeling of perfect harmony, and he felt untouchable, but sadly the feeling was fleeting and before he knew it he was he was in a hospital clinging to life.

What Sherlock also remembered about the days leading up to that was that he was actually angry and even a little jealous. He had been having an internal battle with his 'feelings'. He was secretly jealous that his flatmate, John Watson, was going out on a date with a woman. He wanted John to somehow be _his_ even though he had never made any indication that he had any feelings for John. He felt like he was trapped by his pride and he just wanted an escape, and since there were no cases to solve he jumped right back into his nasty, old habit. As much as it pained him to admit this to himself he knew, deep down, that John would drop everything to be by his side, and though it was not his intention to overdose, he didn't mind the attention he was getting.

As Sherlock's mind wandered and he stared into the mirror he could feel a relentless feeling of restlessness creeping up on him. He pressed his forehead against the mirror and sighed. He snapped out of his head when he heard John's voice coming from the other side of the door.

"Sherlock, are you alright?"

Sherlock realised that he had not even brushed his teeth like he was supposed to, and felt a bit foolish.

"Sherlock?" John said sounding worried.

"I'm fine, John" Sherlock said calmly.

"Okay, I left some cloths for you on your bed"

"Okay, John"

Sherlock decided to do what he was supposed to do and brushed his teeth. When he was finished he splashed some cold water onto his face, and hoped that he could try to stay calm, even though he could feel the urge to use sneaking up on him.

Sherlock saw no reason to put his robe back on considering how intimate John and he had been just a few moments ago so he left the bathroom, and went into his room. He saw John had neatly placed some clothing on the edge of his bed. It was simply a grey t-shirt and a pair of dark blue pyjama pants. He lazily pulled the shirt over his head and put the pants on, but only a few seconds later he heard his flatmate calling his name so he walked out of his room to see what he wanted.

"Sherlock, I know you're probably not feeling hungry, but you really should eat something" John said, as he looked in the fridge to see if there was anything edible.

Sherlock walked over to the couch and threw himself onto it dramatically. "Eating is the last thing on my mind, John", he whined.

"Sherlock, you really need to get something into your body or you might faint again" John said as he walked over to where Sherlock was lounging.

He was laying on his back smoking a cigarette. John never liked smokers, but the way his flatmate looked laying on his back blowing smoke into the air, made him blush a bit. _Naughty boy,_ he thought.

"We don't have anything to eat here so I might have to go out and pick something up"

Sherlock immediately sat up, with cigarette in mouth, and said, "Can I come, John?"

Sherlock's voice sounded so eager and desperate that it made it hard for John to say no. He tried to get the word 'no' out, but as he looked at Sherlock's face, looking like a lost puppy, he just exhaled heavily and said, "Well…alright I guess, but it's only for a few minutes and you have to stay with me the whole time"

Sherlock couldn't help but smile at the way John was speaking to him. He sounded like he was Sherlock's babysitter, but he found it almost endearing.

"So, I guess get changed and we'll go"

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Um, well, I just thought you would want to put on something a bit more presentable"

Sherlock sighed and said, "Why should I look presentable to go get take away?"

"Alright then, I guess just grab a jacket and some shoes and we can go"

Sherlock popped up from the couch and went into his room. John tried not to laugh when Sherlock came out. He looked quite different than usual wearing loose clothing like that, and on top of that he was wearing a pair of black converse high tops.

"I didn't know you even owned a pair of shoes like that" John said, trying not to giggle.

Sherlock looked down at his shoes for a moment and said, "What?"

"I'm not accustomed to seeing you look so…so…casual"

"Well, it's not like we're going on a case, John."

"You can just admit that you're too lazy to put on real clothes, Sherlock"

Sherlock looked at his flatmate with a bit of a pout on his face and said, "Is it so hard to comprehend that maybe I just don't care at the moment?"

"I understand, Sherlock. I'm just seeing a different side to you lately"

"Is that bad, John?" Sherlock asked coldly, as he took a long drag of his cigarette.

"No, not bad at all"

Sherlock looked at John sceptically for a moment before he spoke. "You're loving this aren't you?"

"What? Why would I love this?"

Sherlock just glared at him and said, "Oh, it doesn't matter, John, let's just get out of this bloody place"

"Alright, then let's go"

Sherlock went into his room to retrieve his mobile, but when he checked it for messages he saw he had one from his brother. He rolled his eyes before reading it.

 _Please, try not to be too difficult, Sherlock._

 _M._

Sherlock didn't reply. He just felt a pinch of resentment, but decided not to let it get to him.

"Can we go now?" without meaning to Sherlock's voice came out sounding a bit whiney.

"I'm waiting on you, Sherlock"

John and his dishevelled flatmate made their way down the stairs, but when John casually walked out the door he realized that Sherlock was not behind him. He looked behind him and saw that Sherlock was still inside peeking out the door frame like a nervous cat.

"Sherlock, what _are_ you doing?"

Sherlock didn't answer him. He just tossed his cigarettes butt out the door and kept anxiously looking around like he was expecting someone or something to jump out and attack him. He felt his heart beating faster than it should be. The sounds of the traffic and the people were blaring in his ears. He could swear that everyone was staring at him. He felt nauseas.

John looked at him in confusion and said, "Sherlock, what is it?"

"Come over here, John" Sherlock said, his eyes darting around in suspicion.

John came closer to him and said, "Yes, Sherlock?"

John was almost startled when his flatmate gripped his hand suddenly.

"John, I…I don't think I can go out there" Sherlock's voice was cracking as he spoke.

John leaned in close to him and said, "Why not, Sherlock? I thought you wanted to get out"

Sherlock closed his eyes tightly as if he were in great pain. "John, I've changed my mind. P-please can we go back inside?"

John could feel Sherlock's hand begin to tremble as it held his. "Sherlock, you're shaking…You really should go back to hospital"

Before John could say any more Sherlock jerked his hand away and practically growled at him. "No, John! I'm not going back there! I've been through this before. I just have to get through it so that things can go back to the way they were"

"Hey, I'm just worried about you, okay? You really need to calm down"

Sherlock grabbed John's hand again and took a few deep breaths. He felt like he was going to crawl out of his own skin. He closed his eyes again and tried to fight the thoughts that were creeping up on him.

John felt helpless. He never thought Sherlock Holmes would be so needy, but he also never thought he would be naked in the shower with him either. This whole experience was making his head spin, but he knew it wasn't over yet.

John caringly put his hand on Sherlock's cheek and said, "Let's go back inside then, Sherlock. We can just order something, okay?"

Sherlock calmed down a bit at the mere touch of his flatmate's hand on his cheek.

"O-Okay, John let's go"

John held Sherlock's hand as they made their way up the stairs. Sherlock seemed to have calmed down a little once they got to the sitting room.

The only time John had really seen Sherlock in such a way was when he was convinced he had seen a mutant hound, but even then he still was able to figure everything out and bounce back. This time he seemed to actually be unable to solve this problem he was facing. Unable to break through this wall that was blocking him from sanity, except this time he had put the wall up himself.

Sherlock sits on the couch and begins to unlace his shoes, but seems to be having trouble. When John tries to assist him he swats his hand away, but John continues to try to help him.

Sherlock did not want to tell John, but he was having a serious craving to get high and it was making him feel sick. "John, I'm…I'm really losing my mind here"

"What do you mean?" John asked, his hands carefully removing Sherlock's shoes.

"I need something…I need…I need…" Sherlock's words trailed off.

"What, Sherlock? What do you need?"

Sherlock didn't answer at first. He just put his head in his hands, defeated, and said, "John, I need to escape"

John sat down beside him on the couch, and began rubbing his back. "I know, Sherlock. I know, but you just have to get through this and then you'll be able to go back to your old self again"

Though John's words were meant to comfort Sherlock they just seemed to infuriate him.

Sherlock stood up and began to pace back and forth. "How John, how do I get through this, huh? I really messed up this time!"

His words were spoken with so much intensity that John was speechless for a moment. He felt like he just wanted to grab Sherlock and shake him in an attempt to make him snap out of this rut he seemed to be in, but he knew that would probably exasperate the problem.

"Sherlock, this…this isn't you. You're…you're…" John just couldn't seem to find the right words to say.

"I'm what, John? What?!"

John stood up, his fists balled at his sides and said, "You're Sherlock fucking Holmes, okay?!"

Sherlock just stared at him taken aback by his sudden boldness and said, "I don't think I know who that is anymore, John…"

John's eyes quickly went from an intense, angry glare to a soft, sympathetic gaze. He walked over to his distressed flatmate and hesitantly put his hand on his trembling shoulder and said, "Just tell me what it is that you want, Sherlock"

Sherlock began to breath heavy and just couldn't seem to look at John. He could feel his eyes burning and his throat swell with an overflow of emotion. He felt that his body was betraying him. He did not want to feel anything, but it all just seemed to be too powerful to fight off anymore. He could feel the tears coming and he felt the urge to flee so that John would not see.

He turned away from John and tried to bolt to his bedroom, but was stopped by John's strong grip on his arm.

"Let me go, John" Sherlock said, weakly jerking from John's hand, but not escaping his grip.

"No"

"John, let me go now"

"No"

Sherlock stared at John and jerked his arm one more time as if he was testing him and said, "Why are you doing this, John?"

"I don't know. Maybe because you're my friend and I don't think you should be alone right now"

Sherlock still resisted. "Let. Me. Go." Though his words were cold and threatening John just held on tighter, still not removing his intense gaze from his flatmate.

"We can do this all day you know"

Sherlock tried to pull away one more time, this time using much more strength, but John only tightened his grip. Sherlock scowled at him, but only a few seconds later he leaned in close to his flatmate and pressed his lips against his.

John immediately pulled away for a moment and looked into Sherlock's icy-grey eyes. He looked upset. He had so many things to say to Sherlock, but he put that all aside and kissed him back. He released his grip from Sherlock's arm and instead used that hand to grip the back of his head, making the kiss deeper and even more intense.

Sherlock wrapped his arms tightly around John's lower back and thrust his pelvis closer to his groin area. John put his other hand on Sherlock's arse and squeezed it tightly, as if it was something he had been longing to do for some time now.

Their bodies seemed to be entangled in an articulate dance of passion. Sherlock and John made their way to the couch and Sherlock simply pushed him onto it so that he could climb on top of him and continue kissing him, but as soon as Sherlock climbed on top of John, John stopped him cold in his tracks.

Sherlock looked shocked. "What, John? What is it?"

"Why are you doing this? Why now?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and said, "John, you cannot convince me for even a moment that you have not longed for this"

"The question is though, Sherlock, have you?"

Sherlock got off the couch immediately and began to look for his cigarette pack that he had left in his room. Once he came back out with cigarette in mouth, he lit it up and said, "John, if I had not wanted to do what I was doing, before you so rudely interrupted me, why would I do it?"

John sat up, cleared his throat nervously and said, "Because…because you're bored and vulnerable"

Sherlock stared at John coldly, took a drag of his cigarette and said, "John, since you've met me have you ever seen me, whether I was bored or _vulnerable_ , as you so delicately put it, do something that I did not want to do?"

John was silent for a few moments before he spoke again. "Well, uh, no…no I suppose not"

Sherlock took a few more nervous drags of his cigarette before he tossed it out the window. He knew John hated the taste.

Sherlock walked back over to the couch where his confused flatmate was sitting and said, "Then shut up and kiss me Dr. Watson"

John felt a shiver go down his spine when Sherlock said those words to him. His voice sounded deep and erotic, and it was driving him mad. He was hesitant at first, but as he looked into Sherlock's pale gaze he felt his whole body feel like it was going to burst if he did not comply and kiss him, so that is exactly what he did.

When Sherlock's lips locked with John's they both slowly lied back onto the couch and Sherlock began to suck on the side of John's neck. John cooed as he felt the warm sensation of his lips and tongue on the flesh of his neck.

"Oh, Sherlock…I…I always wanted this…always…" John whispered, as he gripped Sherlock's hair on the back of his head.

John was soon beginning to become hard from beneath the shelter of his jeans.

"Take off your shirt, John" Sherlock demanded.

John was beginning to unbutton his shirt when Sherlock stopped him.

"Here, let me help you with that" Sherlock said, then he grabbed onto John's shirt with both hands and pulled it open causing the buttons to go flying off.

"Sher-"

John was cut off when Sherlock's fingers pressed against his lips. "Shh"

Sherlock then pulled his own shirt off and threw it to the side. He started to plant soft kissed on John's chest, and slowly move his way down to his belly.

"Oh, God yes" John felt like he was going to burst with every little kiss that touched him.

Sherlock seemed to be on a mission, a mission to make his flatmate come, and come hard. He could feel John's erection from under his jeans, and he smiled wildly as he felt it. As soon as he started to undo John's belt, John began to resist again.

"What now, John? It's not as though you're a fragile young girl saving herself for marriage"

John had to catch his breath for a moment, he was so flustered. "It's not that you wanker. I just don't want to be the only one getting off"

Sherlock furrowed his brow in confusion and said, "You're not, John."

"Oh…I'm not?"

Sherlock leaned in close, bringing his mouth right to John's ear and whispered to him in a low voice. "It gets me off to get you off"

The very sound of Sherlock's baritone voice whispering those words into his ear made him shudder, almost as if he _were_ , in fact, a virgin school girl. He couldn't remember a time in his life ever where he felt more aroused.

"Now then, shall we get rid of these?" Sherlock said, as he continued to remove John's belt. When he got the belt off he put it around his neck and smiled playfully at John.

John smiled lightly at his seemingly, silly flatmate and said, "Come here" he pulled on the ends of the belt with his hands and brought Sherlock's face close to his so that he could kiss him some more.

After kissing for a while John was beginning to feel a bit, well, brave. His hands went from Sherlock's face all the way down to his crotch, and he grabbed onto his cock from beneath his pyjama pants. He was rock-hard.

Sherlock's eyes rolled back into his head, and he let out a deep groan. He threw the belt that was around his neck to the side and began to take his pants off. He wasn't wearing any underwear.

John was a bit taken aback when he looked at the size of his flatmates erection. It wasn't that he was expecting him to be small, it's just he wasn't quite expecting him to be so huge either.

"What is it, John?" Sherlock asked, looking perplexed.

"No, n-nothing. Nothing at all" John said, trying to hide his excitement.

Now that Sherlock's hard penis was right in front of him he found himself not sure what he should do next. He felt like he just wanted to admire it for a moment.

"John, you're staring" Sherlock said as he placed his hand on John's cheek.

"I…I just am still new to this whole thing"

"You know you want to touch it, John" Sherlock said, leaning into John's ear, and giving it a little lick.

"Oh, God", John breathed, trying not to sound too fragile.

Sherlock sat back again, and smiled down at John with a 'come-fuck-me' smile.

"This is my first time touching a penis other than my own" John said.

"I'm fully aware of that Dr. Watson"

John was still feeling hesitant, but decided quickly that he wanted to feel his flatmate's cock, so that's what he did, and he absolutely did not regret it one bit.

"Very good, John. Very fucking good", Sherlock said in a low voice.

John's hand wrapped around Sherlock's thick, hard cock, and he squeezed it a bit. Sherlock responded by letting out a deep, throaty groan of pleasure.

"Is…is that good?" John asked, still holding onto to his flatmate's cock.

"Absolutely, John. Squeeze tighter. Don't hold back"

"Do you have any lubricant?" John asked

"You have a natural lubricant already, John"

John looked very confused and said, "I..I do?"

Sherlock leaned in again, planted a kiss on John's cheek and said, "Your mouth, John. You can use your mouth, silly" He softly pressed his index finger to John's nose as he said this.

John's eyes widened a bit, and looked at Sherlock's cock and then back to his face again.

"Problem?", Sherlock asked, shooting John a teasing smile.

John continued to look back and forth at Sherlock's cock and face for a few moments then said, "N-no, not at all…I…just…"

Sherlock looked at John waiting for an answer, but after waiting a while and getting nothing more than a blank stare from his nervous flatmate, he said, "You just what, John?"

John cleared his throat, looked away anxiously, and said quietly, "I'm afraid that I won't be any good, Sherlock…okay?"

"There's only one way to find out" Sherlock said, his eyes looking down at his own cock then back to John.

John ran his fingers through his hair nervously, and sat up, which brought his face right in front of Sherlock's manhood. It almost seemed to be mocking him, but at the same time he did feel the urge to wrap his lips around it.

"I can always show you, John" Sherlock said, looking down at John's crotch, his eyes flashing intensely.

"You don't have to…if you don't want to"

"Oh, John, but I do"

Sherlock pushed John's chest causing him to fall back, and then began to undo John's pants. When he pulled them off and threw them to the floor he saw that his flatmate was already partially erect.

"Someone's ready"

John still looked nervous, but he tried to just lie back and allow his flatmate to remove his boxers.

"You're nervous, John, why?" Sherlock asked, his eyes piercing.

John blushed a bit and said, "I'm just…yes, I'm bloody nervous, okay?"

"There's no need to be nervous, John" Sherlock said, leaning forward and kissing his forehead softly.

John was still quite confused. He was not used to seeing Sherlock act so sensual. It baffled him.

Once John's boxers were off he suddenly felt like fleeing. He found himself feeling very self-conscious about his naked body. He looked at Sherlock's nude body and saw perfection, but when he looked at himself he didn't see anything special, and he was worried that he wasn't 'hot' enough for someone like Sherlock.

"Stop thinking that, John"

John looked up at Sherlock blinking, as if he had been woken up from a dream and said, "Wha-what?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and said, "John, your facial expressions make your thoughts so obvious that even a child could decipher what you are feeling"

John was silent for a moment, then he said in an anxious tone, "Oh…I'm sorry…I guess…"

Sherlock rolled his eyes for what it seemed like the hundredth time, and said, "John, John, John…don't be sorry. Sorry just makes it worse"

John was about to say sorry yet again, but he stopped himself. "Okay, well let's just stop talking and do this"

"Very well, John" Sherlock said, his hand immediately grabbing John's partially erect penis.

Sherlock started to lick his lips, and John felt his heart rate increase. John knew what was coming, and he immediately felt himself becoming rock-hard in Sherlock's seemingly skilled grasp.

Sherlock held John's cock from the base and squeezed it tight.

"Oh, God", John gasped, his fingers practically clawing at the couch cushions.

"Are you ready, John?" Sherlock asked, his voice deep and seductive sounding.

John lifted his head to look at Sherlock, and said, "Y-yes…God, yes"

Sherlock smiled lustfully at him for a moment before he brought his face down to meet John's cock. He just licked the tip for a bit, and then wet his lips again so that he could pleasure his friend. Once his moist lips were wrapped around John's cock he moved his head back and forth, which made it hard for John not to scream it felt so amazing. He took John's, now fully hard penis, deep into his throat and sucked even harder.

"Oh my God, Sherlock…Oh fucking Christ", John cried softly. His whole body felt like it was on fire with sheer pleasure.

Soon enough John had to stop his flatmate or he was going to come. The sensation of Sherlock's amazing mouth on his cock felt better even than the time in the shower.

"You're so…so…fucking good, Sherlock" John breathed, sitting up a bit.

Sherlock was now grabbing his own penis and jerking it a bit in his hand. "Now John, your turn"

"Right…my turn"

Sherlock lied back this time while John got on top of him. Sherlock got up on his elbows and watched as his flatmate just stared nervously at his erection.

Sherlock sat all the way up and put his hand under John's chin bringing his eyes at level with his own and said, "John, it's alright. You don't have to if it's going to be so difficult"

John looked into Sherlock's eyes, which were gleaming almost a turquoise colour in the afternoon light, and suddenly felt calm.

He took Sherlock's hand that was touching his chin, kissed it and said, "I want to, Sherlock"

Sherlock slowly lied back again, and closed his eyes as he felt John's hand grip his cock. John leaned forward, his hand still tight around the base of his flatmate's length, and parted his lips. His heart began to pound again, but he just closed his eyes and finally put his lips around Sherlock's hard cock. As he brought Sherlock's cock deeper into his mouth he found that Sherlock had a taste, a taste that made him want to suck harder, and he did.

When Sherlock's long cock began to hit the back of his throat he tried not gag, but he was not succeeding. He had to pull back a bit, and then continued to move his lips back and forth towards the top of Sherlock's cock.

"Oh, very good, John. Keep going"

Sherlock allowed his eyes to close as he felt his flatmate pleasure him. He could not recall the last time he had felt something so fucking pleasurable. Though John claimed to not really know what he was doing Sherlock had absolutely no complaints at all.

After about 10 minutes or so Sherlock began to moan a bit, and John stopped. "Am I doing something wrong?"

Sherlock was breathing so heavily that it took him a moment to respond. "No, John…don't stop. I'm so fucking close"

With those words John felt a wave of confidence run through him, and with this new confidence he placed Sherlock's throbbing, solid cock back into his mouth and took it in deep into his throat. He could taste Sherlock's salty pre-come in his throat and he loved it. Even though he still was gagging from time to time he kept going. He wanted his flatmate to come into his mouth. He wanted to taste him and he wasn't going to stop until he did. He was going in for the kill.

Sherlock tilted his head back. The sensation he was getting from John sucking on him so hard and fast was making him tremble. The pleasure was so great that he couldn't stop his eyes from rolling back into his head. He gripped John's hair in his hands and bit his lower lip. He was going to fucking explode into John's mouth. He could feel it coming.

"Oh God, yes! John, I'm going to fucking c-come!" Sherlock moaned as John continued to deep throat his length like a pro.

Only a few short seconds later John could taste Sherlock's hot, salty come shoot into his mouth and hit the back of his throat. He kept his mouth on his cock while his come came pumping out into him. He felt the urge to gag a few times, but in the end he just sucked it up and swallowed most of it down.

"Oh John, you're truly amazing" Sherlock said, running his long, slender fingers through John's short, soft hair.

When John took his mouth off of Sherlock's penis he wiped the come that didn't make it inside his mouth with the back of his hand and said, "Well, that was different"

Sherlock was still trying to catch his breath and recover from his amazing orgasm, but he managed to sit up on his elbows so that he could look upon the man that made it possible. "See, John you were nervous for nothing"

John looked away nervously and laughed a bit. "I guess I just really like you, Sherlock" After John said these words he immediately regretted saying them, and tried to avoid Sherlock's intense gaze.

Sherlock heard what John had just said, but chose to ignore it for the time being. "Now then, John shall I do you?"

John was kind of hoping, deep down, that Sherlock would maybe say that he liked him too, but he tried not to let his feelings show in his face. "Oh, you don't have to, Sh-Sherlock…", John said, nervously looking off to the side.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John suspiciously and said, "I did hear what you said, John, if that's what is worrying you"

John looked at Sherlock sheepishly and said, "I know you did, but the question is, do you care?"

A/N: I am sorry if there was too much dirtyness in the past too chapters, but I guess I have a dirty mind hehehe ;) More to come soon!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hello loves! Here's the new chapter!

Chapter 5: Marijuana maintenance

Sherlock sat all the way up and put his hand on John's crotch, smiled wolfishly at him and said, "Come one, John don't you want to get off as well?"

John took Sherlock's hand and removed it from his crotch area and huffed. He really did want to get off, but he felt his mind was racing. He wasn't even sure what reality was right now. He felt as if he was in a strange dream, and though it was a dream that he very much enjoyed, he still had an ever growing fear of being deceived. His heart had always longed for this, but he never imagined it would actually happen. He was having all kinds of emotions, but were they being wasted on someone who had none at all?

Sherlock actually appeared to be a bit shocked. "I never thought I would be saying this, John, but what is the problem?"

John found himself feeling some tears begin to sting his eyes. "Sherlock…" His eyes were now passionately locked onto Sherlock's and he even dared to take hold of his perplexed flatmate's hand. He swallowed hard and then continued. "Sherlock, I…I must admit that I have longed for this since the moment we met, but I never in a million years thought it would be happening, and now that it is happening I find myself feeling, well, a lot of fucking feelings that are making me question the whole situation"

Sherlock averted his gaze from John's penetrating eyes for a moment and ran his fingers through his dark curls with a nervous hand. John immediately brought his hand to Sherlock's chin and brought his glance back to meet his.

Sherlock was now forced to look at his flatmate weather he wanted to or not. Though he did try to turn his head a couple of times John only increased his effort to keep his eyes on his own. Since Sherlock was being forced to look at John he now saw that John's eyes were glazed over and they were fixed so strongly on his own eyes that they made him feel frozen, trapped. Sherlock hated emotions and claimed he had none, but right now at this very moment he was actually _feeling_ something, and it was something that was foreign to him, something that he had buried inside himself many years ago.

Sherlock stared uncomfortably at his flatmate for a few agonizing moments before he spoke. "John…I…I don't know what you want me to say. I thought…I thought we were having fun"

John was still looking intently into Sherlock's nervous gaze, his free hand now slowly raking through Sherlock's matted curls. "We were having fun, Sherlock, but why? I'm so…I'm so confused right now. Damn it, Sherlock you have really been a trip lately" He smiled weakly at the end, trying not to scare his flatmate off with all these ' _feelings'_ he was having.

Sherlock still said nothing, but didn't take his eyes away from John's. He felt lost for words. As John's fingers combed through his hair he found it difficult to not close his eyes it felt so soothing. "John-" he said at last. "I just really want to kiss you right now…that's all I really care about…right now…"

John found the way Sherlock said those words to be actually the most beautiful thing he had heard in his entire life. He practically lunged forward to kiss Sherlock. Once their lips were pressed against each other he felt all his worries melt away.

They were now tightly embracing each other and kissing passionately. Sherlock gently bit John's lower lip playfully, and then stuck his tongue into his mouth. Both of their tongues were now exploring the others mouths. Sherlock let out a low moan of pleasure and gripped onto the hair on the back of John's head tightly.

"Oh, Sherlock…yes" John moaned in between kisses.

"This is almost better than the fucking needle…" Sherlock breathed as he kissed John's neck.

John immediately pulled away and glared angrily at Sherlock and said, "What? Why on earth would you say that, Sherlock? Why do you have to spoil everything?"

John shoved Sherlock onto his back and got off of the couch. He hated what Sherlock had said, but once again Sherlock looked completely puzzled.

"John, that was a good thing I said, right? I said you were _better_ didn't I?"

John was pacing back and forth. He threw his hands in the air and said, "I don't want to hear about your _disgusting_ drug use while we are being intimate, I don't want to hear about it at _all_!"

Sherlock looked up at John from where he was sitting with surprisingly innocent eyes and said, "I'm-I'm sorry, John…I don't know why I said that"

"And the fucking worst part of it is, is that you said "almost" ALMOST!"

Sherlock shuddered slightly. He simply felt he didn't have the right words to say.

"Almost better?! Really?!"

Sherlock stood up and tried to put his arms around John, but John pushed him so hard that he fell back onto the couch.

"You baffle me Sherlock. I mean you always have, but this time it's simply unacceptable!"

"John, please. I'm sorry" Sherlock said, his voice cracking a bit.

John started to put his jeans back on and reached for his shirt, but then remembered that Sherlock had pulled the shirt open before and there were no buttons on it. He cursed under his breath and went to his room to get another shirt. When he returned he was wearing a black and grey striped jumper. He stared at Sherlock for a moment then began to pace back and forth.

"John, will you stop, please?" Sherlock said, getting up and daring to rest his hand on John's tense shoulder.

John practically threw Sherlock's hand off of his shoulder and said, "Don't touch me right now, Sherlock. I really don't wanna have to hurt you"

John was fuming right now, and he felt like he needed to get away from Sherlock, even if only for an hour or so, but he was worried about what might happen if he left his flatmate alone for too long. He thought about this for a few moments and thought that he would very much like to leave the flat and get some air, but as soon as he looked at his flatmate who was sitting on the couch looking very lost he felt his conscience get the better of him. _Fucking hell,_ he thought.

John knew that what he was thinking was probably not a good idea, but he just really wanted to get out of the flat right now. "Sherlock…", he bagan.

Sherlock stepped out of his mind for a moment, looked up at John and said, "Yes, John?"

Sherlock sounded so innocent that it made John feel bad for getting so angry. "I know that you were having a bit of social anxiety before, but I was wondering if maybe, uh, you would want to go out for a bit?"

Sherlock had to think about it for a moment before he could answer. "Go out and do what precisely, John?"

John looked at the time and saw that it was only 2pm. He felt that it had been much longer than that. He really thought it should at least be about 5pm by now. _Bloody hell,_ he thought.

John felt himself calming down so he decided to take a seat next to Sherlock. He saw that Sherlock was very distressed so he put his arm around him and said, "Look, Sherlock I just didn't want to hear you say something like that while we're being intimate. Do you understand?"

Sherlock stared at his hands nervously for a moment before he spoke. "John, I really don't know why I said such a thing. I'm…I'm sorry"

John felt his heart sink a bit at the morose sound of Sherlock's voice. He leaned in close to him and gave him a little peck on his cheek and said, "It's alright, Sherlock."

Sherlock was about to say something when he was interrupted by the loud sound of his stomach growling. "Oh, sorry"

John burst out laughing. "I guess you're hungry then"

Sherlock was a bit embarrassed for a moment, but then he soon joined in on a good laugh between him and his flatmate. "Don't laugh at me you tit"

John laughed even harder, and without thinking he reached over and began to tickle Sherlock's sides. He was very amused to find that Sherlock Holmes was, in fact, very ticklish.

"Stop it right now, John", Sherlock demanded, trying his very best to sound serious.

John stopped for a moment saying, "I'm sorry, Sherlock…" but he couldn't resist for more than a few seconds before he was tickling his flatmate yet again.

Sherlock tried to curl up on the couch to protect himself, but that seemed to only provoke John more.

Sherlock swatted John's hand away the best he could, but John was merciless. "John, please fucking stop, okay?" Sherlock begged in between relentless laughter.

Though John was enjoying seeing Sherlock laugh like a toddler he decided to hear his plea and stop. "I'm sorry Sherlock, but that was too fucking perfect"

Sherlock sat up again and tried to catch his breath. "Bloody hell, John. Are you insane?"

John kissed Sherlock on the cheek and said, "I had no idea you were so ticklish"

Sherlock felt his cheeks turn red and he pouted a bit and said, "I'm not, damnit. You better not tell anyone about this, John"

"Your secret's safe with me, Sherlock Holmes", John said as he ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock got up from the couch and began to put his clothes back on and as he was pulling his pyjama pants on he felt a hand slap his bare arse. He turned around and saw John looking up at him from the couch smiling foolishly at him.

"I'm sorry, but I always wanted to do that, Sherlock" John was giggling a bit in between words.

Sherlock tried his very best to keep a straight face, but soon began to snicker. "John, you're a fucking tit, you know that?"

"I'm a tit? Oh, well, then I guess I'm a tit", John said as he got up and squeezed Sherlock's left butt cheek.

Sherlock looked at him almost in shock as if John was some dirty, scoundrel at a pub, and he was an innocent bar maid. "John, you know I'm not just a bloody piece of meat"

"Oh, yeah, Sherlock, Prove it then", John said as he moved in for another satisfying squeeze.

Sherlock slapped his hand away from his arse and frowned at John. "You really have no shame do you, John?"

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's torso from behind and said, "I don't have any shame at all, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled when he felt John's lips kissing the side of his neck. He felt better than he did earlier, much better actually. He still felt shaky and weak, but having John by his side made things much more bearable. He still was having a battle from within with his dark urge to use, but John was a pleasant distraction and,well, perhaps much more than a distraction, but something that made him feel that he could endure almost anything.

Sherlock was feeling very weak so he decided to have a seat on the couch for a moment. He sighed and said, "John, I really am sorry about what I said earlier"

John sat down beside him and said, "Sherlock, its okay. I'm really just happy to have you here, alive and safe"

Sherlock was about to say something to John, but stopped when he heard the sound of his mobile going off somewhere in the flat. "Where's my mobile?"

"I'll find it for you", John said as he got up and began to search for his flatmate's phone.

"I think I may have left it in my room", Sherlock said.

John went into Sherlock's room and saw it on the bed. "Oh, I found it"

When he retrieved the phone from his room he went into the sitting room and handed it to Sherlock. "It's a text from Lestrade"

Sherlock knew it was probably something that he didn't feel like dealing with so he asked John to read it to him.

John shrugged his shoulders and began to read the text. "Sherlock, I heard you got out of hospital and wanted you to know that I am very happy that you're alive. I was so worried about you. I hope you feel better, and if you're up to it, tomorrow night Molly and I were wondering if you wanted to get together and celebrate for new year's eve"

Sherlock sighed heavily and stretched out on the couch and let out a long groan. "Oh, for fucks sake, why would I be even mildly interested in going out for bloody new year's eve?"

John put Sherlock's mobile down on the coffee table and said, "I completely forgot that tomorrow night is New Year's Eve"

"Who cares, John? For fucks sake, I thought maybe he had a bloody case for me", Sherlock groaned, covering his face with his hands.

"I don't think you need to worry about going on a new case right now", John said as he knelt down on the floor beside the couch.

Sherlock popped up right away and said, "John! What the hell makes you think I would not be ready for a case?!"

John laughed to himself a bit and said, "Well, I can name numerous reasons, but let's just start with the fact that you were in a bloody coma for almost three days because of a fucking heroin overdose"

"Yes, well…I am very much alive now, and would like to get on with my life, John. I'm fucking bored!"

"You're always fucking bored, Sherlock. What else is new?"

Sherlock shot John a malicious look and opened his mouth angrily to shoot something back at him, but no words came out, so instead he just huffed and turned his head away from his flatmate.

"He was at the hospital, you know. He was one of the first people there when you arrived. He stayed with me for as long as he could and was really worried about you, Sherlock"

Sherlock still wouldn't look at John, but spoke none the less. "Look, I know I really fucked up, John, but I don't need to keep being reminded of how much people bloody _care"_

"Really, because I think you do need to be reminded. You need to realize that when you hurt yourself you hurt _everyone_ who cares about you", John began. "I was the one who found you, you know, Sherlock. I bloody found you in that ally freezing to death, choking on your own vomit" John had to stop for a moment because he could feel tears coming on. He stood up and walked over to one left window in the sitting room and just stared outside blankly for a bit.

Sherlock sat on the couch anxiously and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He hated this whole thing. All these people who apparently _'cared'_ just made him feel like he was disgusted with himself.

John turned around and stared at Sherlock and said, "I bloody found you dying, Sherlock. Does that mean nothing to you?"

Sherlock stood up, towering over John, glowering at him and said, "What is it supposed to mean, huh?!"

John could feel his veins burn with anger as Sherlock's vicious sounding words ran through his head. He clenched his fists so tight that his knuckles were white.

Sherlock looked at John's balled up fists, smirked a bit and said, "What, John, are you going to hit me? Is that it? Is that the way to make me care? Brilliant"

John narrowed his eyes at his smirking flatmate, back away from him a bit and said, "Sherlock…you need fucking help…and I don't think I can give it to you…"

When Sherlock saw John grab his jacket from the arm chair, put his shoes on, and begin to walk to the stairs his face fell. "John, where are you going?", he asked, sounding lost all over again.

John turned and glared at Sherlock and said to him in a low voice, "I'm going out for a bit, and if you're not here, or dead, or whatever when I get back it's not my bloody problem"

Sherlock stared at John in disbelief for a few moments, but couldn't find any words. John turned away from him and went down the stairs. Sherlock dashed to the stairs to watch him. "Fine, John! Just bloody fine!"

"Sod off, Sherlock!"

Sherlock ran over to the window closest to the couch in the sitting room and watched as John walked down the street. He knew that he could be hard to be around at times, but still he found himself shocked that John Watson had actually reached his breaking point. He was angry, not really angry with John, but more angry with himself. He knew he had crossed a line, but he almost felt he was _entitled_ to cross any line he wanted to. John always seemed to be there for him no matter what, but something was different this time. He had really over stepped his boundaries. _What the hell have I done?_ He thought to himself as he grabbed his last cigarette from his pack.

"Oh, shit", he said when he noticed that he only had one left.

He cracked the window he was standing in front of and lit up his cigarette. He stared out the window for a few minutes until he finished his smoke and tossed the butt out the window. He had no clue what to do to entertain himself.

After about 30 minutes of sitting on the couch staring at the ceiling he was beginning to feel restless. He checked his phone, but saw there were no messages or missed calls. His mind was beginning to delve into darkness and he could feel his heart begin to pound in his chest. He wanted to text John, but he didn't want to bother him. He wanted another cigarette to possibly calm his frazzled nerves, but remembered that he had none left. He cursed under his breath and started to pace back and forth in the sitting room.

"Oh, fucking hell why do I have to be so…so fucking foolish?", he said to himself as he went to look out the window again.

When another long, agonizing 30 minutes had passed again he was really beginning to feel like he wanted to jump out of his own skin. He grabbed his mobile wanting to text John and tell him he was sorry and that he needed him to come home, but he simply couldn't do it.

"Shit!", he spat as went into his room.

He had no idea why he went into his room, but for whatever reason he began rummaging through his drawers. He remembered that he had kept a bit of weed in there from a few days ago in case he felt too 'bored' or just wanted to escape. He never really smoked weed except a bit when he was a teenager and also when he was at Uni, but right now at this moment he just wanted to get away.

"I just wanna get fucking faded", he said to himself, almost sounding like he was going to cry.

As he searched for his 'secret stash' he knew that if John found out he would be so angry, but in his head he almost felt that it was John's fault for leaving him to his own devises. He was just about to give up his search when he felt a small plastic bag in his fingers.

He exhaled and took the bag out of his drawer to examine it. The smell coming from the bag was really strong. He looked at the crumpled plastic bag in his hands for a few moments and then said in low almost ominous sounding voice, "Jack pot"

Sherlock opened up the bag and felt some relief rush over him. He felt a bit of a rush for a moment as he took the bag into the sitting room. His eyes darted around the room. He felt like a teenager whose parents were away on holiday.

For a few long minutes he stared at the bag and thought seriously about throwing it out, but he found that his urge to escape was winning. He went back into his room to find the rolling papers that he had stashed away with the weed. Once he found them he went back into the sitting room and grabbed the weed and brought it into the kitchen. He had trouble remembering how to roll a joint, but soon enough he remembered well enough and soon enough he had a nice fat joint all rolled up.

He went to go get his lighter and then returned to the kitchen. Once he placed the joint in between his lips he found himself looking around suspiciously for a few moments before he lit it up.

"Why the fuck am I doing this?", he mumbled to himself as he pulled and inhaled deeply.

It had been so many years since he smoked weed that he soon was coughing incessantly. He almost was panicking a bit because he couldn't seem to get the coughing under control. He went to go get a glass of water from the tap when he felt as if everything had suddenly slowed down. He blinked his eyes slowly and put his hand on his cheek, almost as If he wanted to make sure that his face was still attached.

"Oh…bloody…hell…what have I done?" Sherlock said slowly, still touching his face.

Sherlock Holmes was beginning to feel the effects of the marijuana. He coughed a bit and stared at the joint in his hand as if it were mocking him. "Oh, fuck you"

Once he drank some water he felt a bit more calm so he decided to take a few more pulls. Soon enough he was coughing again, but just downed some more water and that seemed to do the trick.

After about, what seemed like the longest 15 minutes in his life, he suddenly felt the urge to see what was on the telly. His 'mind palace' felt like it was melting ice cream in his brain. Whatever he had picked up, it was fucking strong stuff.

He went to check his phone and saw that there were still no messages. He scoffed and tossed the phone onto the couch. He sat on the chair in front of the telly and searched for the remote. It didn't seem to be anywhere near by so he got up and began searching around the sitting room, but to no avail.

"Where the bloody hell is it?" he asked himself.

He just couldn't seem to find so he decided to just switch it on manually. Once he settled into the chair he felt something underneath him. It was the remote. He pulled it out and stared at it for a bit. For whatever reason he found this hilarious and he burst out laughing like a fool.

"It was right fucking here", he laughed as he took another pull from the joint.

He switched on the telly and began mindlessly flipping through the channels. He never really watched anything on the telly, but because he was so high he strangely felt in the mood for something mindless. He finally settled on a movie with zombies in it. After watching it for a few minutes he recognized it because he remembered John watching before. It was _Shaun of the Dead._

Sherlock sat there on the chair staring blankly at the telly, throwing in the occasional random laugh. He found himself so engrossed in the film that he almost jumped out of his chair when he heard his mobile go off.

"What…what the hell is that?" he said slowly to himself, still not moving from the chair.

Reluctantly Sherlock got up and walked over to the couch to retrieve his phone. It was John, he was actually calling him. Sherlock stared at the phone in a daze for a moment before he answered it.

"H-hello?" Sherlock's voice sounded distant and almost a bit frightened.

"Sherlock, are you there?" John asked.

Sherlock had to think for a moment before he answered. "Y-yes I'm here…where are…you?"

"I just went for a walk and picked up some things from the shop nearby. Are you alright, you sound a bit sleepy or something"

Sherlock was sitting in front of telly again, not really listening to his flatmate because he was too distracted by the events taking place in the film.

"Sherlock, are you even listening?" John was starting to sound worried.

Sherlock shook his head as if trying to shake his high off and said, "Where…where are you, John?"

"I've just finished telling you. What's the matter with you?"

Sherlock realised that he was very, very high indeed, but couldn't let John know that so he quickly tried to make himself sound as sober as possible.

"I'm fine, John. I'm just really bored, and I've run out of cigarettes"

"Well, I guess I can pick some up for you even though I think it's a nasty habit"

"Yes, well, thank you. Could you get ice cream as well?"

John was quiet for a moment before he answered. "Uh, yeah sure…since when do you like ice cream?"

Sherlock never really cared much for sweets except when he was much younger, but right now he suddenly felt like he wanted to eat ice cream, and many other things.

"Since…now. I'm actually really hungry, John. Don't judge me"

John was laughing at this point, though Sherlock really wasn't sure why. "Sherlock, I'm not judging you"

"Why were you laughing at me then, John?"

"You're just a trip lately that's all"

Sherlock was quiet for a moment then started giggling. He was laughing at what was going on in the film on the telly. "John, listen I'm sorry", Sherlock laughed, trying to sound serious, but finding it very difficult to stop laughing.

"Then why are you laughing?"

"John, John, John…have you ever seen this movie? The one with the zombies?"

"Wha-what? Which movie with zombies?"

Sherlock stared at the screen for a moment trying to remember the title of the film, but then he picked up the remote so that he could bring up the title. " _Shaun of the Dead_?"

"Yeah, I've seen it. Is that why you're laughing like an idiot?"

Sherlock realised that the abrupt laughter was probably not helping him very much in sounding sober so he tried to straighten up a bit. "I'm sorry, John I'm just…bored or something…"

"Alright, well I should be home in about 30 minutes, okay?"

"Hurry John I'm famished"

"Okay, I'll text you when I'm getting close to the flat"

Sherlock forgot that he was on the phone for a few seconds, but soon snapped out of his momentary daze so he could answer his flatmate. "Yes…okay"

Sherlock hung up before John could say bye and continued to stare mindlessly at the telly. He brought his knees to his chest and began to laugh out loud at the television. Soon he realised that he had not told John what type of ice cream he wanted or what brand of cigarettes he wanted either, but just as his muddled mind thought this he received a text from John.

 _What kind of ice cream do you want? Cigarettes?_

Sherlock found that he had to shake a few cobwebs from his brain before he could even answer that simple question. He, for once, felt like he could literally eat _anything_ right now. He wanted pizza, Chinese food, cheese burgers, cheese cake, apple pie, and so many other things that he couldn't even form them into a thought, but he had to hurry up and make a decision. _I am so fucking stoned right now,_ he thought as he stared at his mobile for almost 2 minutes.

 _I would like vanilla ice cream and Marlboro red cigarettes, please. Hurry._

 _SH_

 _Okay, are you sure you're alright? You better not be in any bloody trouble when I return._

 _I'm not in any trouble I'm just really hungry. I'll see you soon._

 _SH_

 _Alright I'll see you when I get back._

When the movie ended Sherlock realised that John would be back soon and he began to panic a bit. He noticed that the joint he was still holding had gone out and was pretty much finished so he dashed to the bathroom to flush it. When caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror he panicked even more. He leaned in close to the mirror so that he could get a better look at his face. His eyes were reddened and seemed to be stuck in a permanent squint. _Oh, fuck. I look utterly high. John is going to know!_ He thought. He splashed some cold water on his face from the tap, and looked to see if they had any eye drops in the bathroom somewhere, but unfortunately he found none.

 _Oh, fuck, the fucking smell!_ he thought to himself as he began frantically searching for air freshener of some kind. Luckily he found some and sprayed it all around in the sitting room. He then grabbed the rest of the weed and stashed it back where he got it from in his room, and he tried to gather himself a bit before his sober flatmate returned. _Okay, I'm perfectly fine, I'm fine…I'm fi-I'm so bloody high, damn it!_ He thought to himself as he tried to relax on the sofa.

When he heard his phone go off he jolted from the sofa. He went to retrieve it from the chair he left it on. It was from John. Sherlock was beginning to feel quite paranoid at this point, which would only make things worse when John would return.

 _I got the things you wanted. I should be home in a few minutes. You better not have done anything stupid._

Sherlock felt a surge of panic run through his body. _Oh, God he knows! He knows something! He's going to know that I'm high! Bloody hell!_

He tried to calm himself a bit before he started texting back.

 _Why on earth would I have done anything stupid? I'm just bored, bored and starving, hurry._

 _SH_

 _Alright then, I'll be home shortly._

Sherlock went back into the bathroom to look at himself again. His eyes were still rather red, but he could only hope that John wouldn't notice, and if he did he would just have to come up with some kind of excuse. _Pull it together Sherlock. Come on! You can do this, you can be not high! Come one!_ Sherlock told himself, but he knew it was not that simple. He was fucking high, and he was just going to have to act as if he was not. Simple, right?

Sherlock kept looking out the window and walking around the sitting room nervously. He heard some noise coming from downstairs and walked over to the door to the stairs and listened for a moment. John was coming up the stairs. Sherlock took a deep breath and said to himself, "Okay, I can do this"

When John came through the door he was holding a few bags of groceries in his hands. Sherlock stood in the middle of the sitting room trying to avoid eye contact with him. Even though Sherlock was attempting to look 'normal' he really looked rather stiff, awkward, and even a bit sad.

John went into the kitchen so he could set the bags down, glanced over at Sherlock and said, "Why are you just standing there? Is…is something wrong?"

Sherlock immediately looked at him, then looked away again and said, "What? I am fine. Perfectly fine, John, don't be so paranoid"

John shrugged his shoulders and continued to unload the groceries. He didn't expect Sherlock to help him. He never really did, so he saw nothing abnormal about it.

"I got the ice cream and the nasty cigarettes you wanted", John said as he tossed the pack to Sherlock.

Sherlock wasn't really paying attention so the pack of cigarettes actually hit him on the side of his face and fell to the floor. "Oh, thank you", Sherlock said after a while.

After John finished putting everything in its proper place he walked over to Sherlock, who was now sitting on the couch holding on to his pack of cigarettes in his lap, sat down beside him and said, "Are you still hungry?"

Sherlock was still trying to not look at John in case his eyes were still red, but he simply nodded his head in response.

"Yes? What do you want?"

Sherlock was quiet for a bit before he said a word. "John…" he began.

"Yeah?"

"Are you still angry with me?"

John had almost forgotten that they had fought at all. When he left the flat before it was all he was thinking about for the first hour or so, but he soon had already began to put it behind him like he did most of the time with all the things Sherlock has put him through since they met. He just never seemed to be able to stay mad at him, especially when he recently thought he was going to be gone forever.

John put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, sighed and said, "I was really mad, Sherlock, but I think maybe I just needed to get out and clear my head for bit that's all"

Sherlock couldn't help but look at John at this point as he spoke. "I really am, you know, sorry, John."

"It's fine, Sher-" John stopped when he saw the state of Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock tried to look away, but was stopped by John's hand gently turning his face to meet his. "Have you been…crying?"

Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise and said, "No, of course not, John, don't be ridiculous"

"Then what's going on with your eyes?"

Sherlock soon realised that as embarrassing it would be to say that he had been crying it was much better than the truth, and much less likely to get him into trouble.

"I mean…yes, yes I was…crying"

John glared at him in disbelief and said, "Oh, okay, well…why does it bloody reek of air freshener in here?"

Sherlock almost wanted to throw himself on the floor at John's feet and confess what he had done, but instead still tried to play it cool.

"I just thought the cigarette smell was bothering you"

John thought that maybe Sherlock was telling the truth, but there was something about his eyes and mannerisms that made him feel that he was hiding something.

"Also, since when do you _ever_ want to randomly eat ice cream?"

"I haven't eaten in days, John"

John still felt that something was off with Sherlock, but just didn't feel like dealing with it right now. "Alright then, whatever…I really don't care right now"

Sherlock leaned in and nuzzled into the crook of John's neck and said, "Now, can I please have some ice cream?"

The way Sherlock asked John this while nuzzling him like that almost made John shiver. He simply could not deny how much he is attracted to him, and how adorable he is being right now.

John couldn't help but smile and kiss his flatmate on the forehead and said, "Of course"

John walked into the kitchen to get out the ice cream, but stopped when he saw a little packet of rolling papers on the counter. He picked them up and walked back over to the sofa where his flatmate sat and said, "Sherlock….why on earth are there rolling papers in the kitchen?"

Sherlock stared at John's out stretched hand with the rolling papers in his palm, and tried to think of a good excuse, but the best he was able to come up with in his high state was, "I…don't know"

John angrily threw the rolling papers at Sherlock and said, "Oh my God, Sherlock, stop bloody lying!"

Sherlock couldn't bring himself to look at John, but he could feel his eyes shooting daggers at him. He looked up at John with rather innocent looking eyes and said coyly, "Can I just have my ice cream now, John?"

John was ready to explode, especially because his flatmate was actually smiling at him, and he was just sick to death of playing games.

"Oh my God! I'm so bloody stupid, I should have known! You're eyes, you're sudden appetite, the fucking air freshener! God, I am an idiot!"

Sherlock looked down at his feet, feeling rather foolish and said quietly, "It was just a bit of weed, John"

"Just a bit of weed?! How fucking old are you, Sherlock?! Do I seriously have to fucking babysit you?!"

Sherlock felt cornered by his blogger, and he hated it, so he stood up, glared at John though red eyes, and said, "What the hell do you want from me, John?! I felt like I was going to lose my bloody mind being cooped up in here! I was bo-"

"You were _bored_ , I know! You're always fucking bored, Sherlock! Guess what, that's fucking life! Deal with it!"

All Sherlock could really do in response to what John just said was glare at him intensely. He knew, as much as he absolutely _hated_ to admit it, that John was right, but lately he was not sure _how_ to deal with it. He just couldn't shake this awful feeling. He felt he almost had no control anymore, or maybe he never really had control in the first place.

John wanted to storm out again, but he was afraid, afraid of what else Sherlock might do if he was left unattended for too long. He was furious, but he was glad that it was only a bit of weed and not something else more horrible. He put his hands on the sides of Sherlock's arms, squeezed tightly, and said, "As shocking as this may sound to you, I really, _really_ care about you Sherlock, and as much as I am angry and disappointed with you, and as much as I just want to leave you here and go have a fucking drink…I'm going to stay here and make sure that you are safe"

The two flatmates stared deeply into each other's eyes for a few moments when Sherlock broke the silence. "Very well, John, would you like to join me in having some ice cream then?"

John smiled softly, pressed his forehead against Sherlock's and said, "Yes, yes I would love to have some ice cream with you"

"Good, I'm bloody _starving_ "

John laughed lightly and went into the kitchen to get the ice cream. "So, on a scale of one to ten, how high are you right now?"

Sherlock flopped down onto the couch and thought for a moment before answering. "Um, well, perhaps a 6…I mean, I've sobered up a bit because you were yelling at me"

"Ah, I see, well sorry about that", John said sarcastically as he got two bowls out of the cabinet.

"You know, the last time I even smoked weed I think I was probably in my early twenties", Sherlock said.

John walked into the sitting room holding two bowls full of vanilla ice cream, nudged Sherlock with his foot for him to sit up, and then sat down beside him. Sherlock looked ridiculously excited to see the bowl of ice cream in front of him. John couldn't suppress a smile from forming on his face when he saw his reaction. He wanted to squeeze him and tell him how fucking cute he was being, but he decided against it.

"Oh, my God John this is the best bloody ice cream I have ever tasted, oh", Sherlock said as he shoved a spoon full into his mouth.

John laughed and said, "You almost make me want to smoke as well"

Sherlock stopped shoving ice cream in his mouth for a moment and stared at John. John knew that a light bulb must have gone off in his head, and he didn't like it.

"Sherlock, don't give me that look"

"What look?"

"That, 'I- know-what- you're- thinking- look' stop it"

"I wasn't…but, well, since we don't have much to do tonight, would you like to partake in a bit of…smoking?"

John simply looked at his flatmate and laughed at him. "You're not serious are you?"

"Why wouldn't I be serious, John?"

"Look, Sherlock I'm not bloody young anymore. Those days are over"

Sherlock leaned close to John, kissed his neck and said, "You're not old either are you, John?"

The feeling of Sherlock's lips against the warm flesh of his neck almost made him want to just say 'fuck it' but he felt very conflicted. He did used to enjoy getting high with his mates at uni, but he just hadn't done it in so long that he was almost a bit scared. Besides all that, he really didn't want to be a bad influence on Sherlock, considering that he had just come out of coma that was caused by drugs. _Oh, fucking hell, this is hard._

John took a deep breath, trying very hard to fight off the intoxicating effect that Sherlock's lips were having over his rational thoughts, and said plainly, "No, Sherlock…I won't do that"

"Always the good boy, John", Sherlock said as he sucked on John's ear lobe.

"I mean, even when I did smoke I was usually a bit drunk first", John said with a laugh.

Sherlock continued to suck on John's ear lobe and said in a sensual voice, "Isn't there some scotch in the kitchen somewhere?"

John playfully pushed Sherlock away, looked at him and said, "You can't be bloody serious, Sherlock. I usually don't, but I really would love a stiff drink right now, but I really must decide against it right now"

"Why?"

"Sherlock, you were at death's door only about three days ago from drugs. I really don't think it would be wise, or healthy, to be drunk or high right now"

Sherlock gave John a disappointed look and went back to eating his ice cream in silence. He finished it very quickly and set the empty bowl down on the coffee table and said, "Very well then, what do you suggest we do tonight?"

John really had no idea and he had to admit that the idea of having a few drinks and cutting loose sounded wonderful, but he felt he needed to keep a level head. He knew that Sherlock was not a drinker, but he remembered the story that Mycroft had told him in the hospital about Sherlock, and how he had alcohol poisoning when he was fifteen. He knew that he would probably be fine with having a few drinks, but he did not want to do anything that would possibly get Sherlock into any more trouble than he was already in.

A/N: Uh oh! It looks like Sherlock is being a bad boy! Next chapter coming soon! 3


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